


Dayala

by Solitarycafe



Category: Original Work
Genre: Archery, Assassins & Hitmen, Dark Fantasy, F/M, Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 00:24:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 77,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19414612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solitarycafe/pseuds/Solitarycafe
Summary: A lone half-elf assassin takes on a job that is far more complex than anything she's taken on before





	Dayala

Phineas Happ. Dayala knew the man, not personally, but she'd heard his name here and there over the course of the last year. He was a mage, apparently, though recently it seemed the only magic he'd been plying was the magic of politics and emptying people's pockets. She'd learned from her usual sources that Happ was campaigning for a seat on the city council, a position which she was sure he had no good use for.  
Lattia was a large city that was made of smaller counties. The whole of it sat upon a portion of the continent that most called the province of Green. The city hadn't had a king for nearly twenty years, but Lattia's council had managed to pull together with a smart business sense and the almighty power of gold. Lattia was not openly prejudiced against any one race, but they had a strict caste system which naturally favored the rich. A handful of elder blood ruled within the council, one dwarf, and the rest human. Dayala laughed to herself every time she heard someone speak of the council as if they were doing the work of the gods. She saw only a group of power hungry men that were struggling desperately to keep reign of the ever growing country.   
The problem was, Lattia didn't fight wars; they hadn't since their last king had been assassinated. Instead, they bought wars. It was a strategy that had worked well in the past: any country that wished to conquer them was quickly shown that it would be in their best financial interest not to. In the last decade however, the population of the province had grown so large that the relatively small council was beginning to struggle with its management. It had worked to Dayala's advantage, since unhappy rich people were usually willing to pay large sums of money to silence other unhappy, usually equally as rich, rivals.  
Happ was a bit different. As a human and a mage, he'd openly and actively protested the admission of non human and non elven races into the local chapter of the mage's guild. He spoken about keeping the craft pure and the negative impact that the shamanism of the gnomes or the runic magic of the dwarves would have on the guild. He'd gained quite a few followers, but Dayala knew that anyone who would willingly support a man such as Happ was only looking for any excuse they could to boot out and shut out anyone who wasn't one of them.  
It hardly mattered to her in any case. Being a mutt, Dayala belonged nowhere. She'd spent ten years of her life looking for a place to call home before she realized that there was no such place for her and those like her. As a professional killer, her perspectives had changed constantly until she'd given up completely on justifying any of her actions. Most of the men she'd killed had deserved it, but she would have done Happ for free.  
So there she sat, atop the roof of an old adobe and hay building, waiting for the mage to show himself. She'd decided after casing his home the night before that a broad daylight attack was actually less risky than attempting one at night. It was relatively early; the sun wasn't even a quarter high, yet large throngs of people were already beginning to fill the street. The weekend bazaar was absolutely the place to be if you were a merchant. It really didn't matter what you were selling, the odd tourist would buy just about anything if the product was pitched right. She'd already set up her trap and the waiting was all she had left to do. As she waited, she looked through the sparse crowds, her eye catching glints of colored clothing here and there as her ears caught sounds of laughter and morning greetings. The bazaar took place near the riverbank, so most of the houses that had been built there were more mud and straw than timber. It was a strange contrast, seeing so many different bright colors against a backdrop of mud gray walls, but at the very least it might make her target easier to spot.  
She narrowed her eyes as she saw him coming around the corner. A tall, middle aged man wearing a purple robe and the ridiculous round hat that the mage's guild presented to master graduates. He was tough, she could tell just by looking at him. He was a man of experience and ruthless gain; not the biggest fish in the sea but a big enough one. She guessed that was the entire reason she was there in the first place; someone wanted him dead before he swam into their waters. It didn't matter to her, she was only to end to his life and leave as quickly as possible; she seldom if ever concerned herself with the aftermath of her actions.  
She watched the man as he went from stall to stall with his small entourage of bodyguards. It would have been important to make a good public appearance if he wanted to win the local election, and she assumed that was exactly what he was doing.  
She would have a very short time window to make the shot, but she didn't want to rush it and make a mistake. He drew closer, and as he did so, she lifted her bow carefully. She'd done it many times before, killed men, but every time she did it she couldn't help but think about animals. There was a fundamental difference between animals and people, but the biggest differences boiled down to only two things: motive and conscience. A predator in the wild would kill only to eat, but a person would kill for any reason at all... sometimes for no reason. Predators never killed for gain, they killed to live, but all people that murdered did so in order to gain something other than life itself. It was by this logic that she found it easy to do what she did.  
Her target was nearly in place now and the only thing left was for her to make the shot. She knew that if she loosed too early, her trap might not work, so timing was of the utmost importance. She saw Happ smile to a merchant and nod, and something triggered in her brain. As a hunter, she had always relied on her instinct. As naturally as she breathed, she loosed. She could see his head turn toward her as the arrow left the string. It lasted less than a second, but she knew that he was looking at her and not just in her direction. The mage's eyes narrowed as the arrow arced toward him, then, by what must have been magic, it suddenly wavered in mid air and clattered down onto the street. At that same instant, a bolt fired from a crossbow from a nearby rooftop and hurdled toward the mage. The mage snapped his head away from the arrow and raised his arm suddenly in a sweeping motion, as if casting a spell, but the bolt took him in the shoulder before he could finish his gesture. Happ’s guards shouted as they looked about frantically, but Dayala was already gone.  
Earlier that morning, she'd rigged an inexpensive wooden crossbow at the highest rooftop on the street, then imprinted a set of very simple runes onto both the bolt and the crossbow's trigger. The half breed woman was certainly no magician, but she'd learned basic runic magic from the dwarf that had raised her after her parents had passed away. It was a tricky operation, and it required the crossbow to remain completely untouched. She'd imprinted two runes on the arrow she'd fired; one at the tip of the arrow and one at the back of the shaft, each to correlate with the runes on the crossbow. Once fired, the first rune triggered the crossbow, while the second rune guided the bolt toward the direction of the target. The guiding magic binding the runes to each other was not so powerful as to allow the bolt to turn corners, but it had been enough to hit the mage while he was distracted.  
Phineas Happ cursed loudly as he clutched at the short piece of wood wedged in his shoulder, “Gods damn it, catch that bastard!”  
A small crowd gathered around him as he furrowed his brow, “Thought they could take me down so easily... cowards... I...” he felt suddenly dizzy and nauseous. “No... someone help me...” he gasped suddenly as he fell to his knees. Several seconds later, the crowd watched as the acclaimed mage sputtered violently then breathed his last. His guards had left to catch the would be assassin, and while plenty of people were simply staring, no one moved to help him.

Escaping from several armed men who possessed all the agility of a sick dog proved to be an easy task for the assassin. She hadn't expected the runes to work work so well as to strike a killing blow against the mage, in fact, the chances of such a thing happening were astronomically high. Instead, she'd laced the bolt with a potent poison of her own mixing; it needed only to nick his skin to have been effective, but things had gone much better than she could have hoped.  
She never went home after a job, especially one that was local, so after stashing her equipment in a designated spot, she headed toward the library. An impressive achievement of architecture, the library had been built into one side of a hill and reinforced with stone and mortar. Instead of being erected upwardly, it had been built downward into the ground. Dayala often spent her afternoons reading about whatever she could there. Her memory, though not quite photographic, was impressive for anyone, elf or human, and she enjoyed collecting as much information as she could from whatever books were about. It was an odd feeling, sitting there in the peace of the library's basement amid several other quiet patrons, passing the day leisurely while just a few hours prior she'd ended a man's life. The end of a job had always proven stranger than the beginning or middle of one, and she supposed that the books helped take her mind off of the killing, though she might not have been able to admit it to herself. As the sun came to set, she cinched her hood around her face and headed to the agreed meeting spot for her payment.

He stood there quietly, the man from the assassin's guild. She spotted him beneath the old stone archway before she approached; at least this time he hadn't sneaked up on her.  
He raised his head slightly as she came nearer and grinned, “Cripes woman, I could see your bollocks dragging on the ground from all the way over here.”  
She frowned beneath the cowl, “What do you mean?”  
He chuckled, “I mean you've got balls. A direct attack in full daylight with the public watching and everything?” His chuckle turned into a low laugh, “Brilliant, fucking brilliant. That bit with the bolt and the poison; nice touch. You've done well.”  
She shook her head, “You saw it?” she asked, slightly irritated. She was very good at what she did and considered herself to be quite aware most days, but she reminded herself that the men of the assassin's guild were at least her equal when it came to slinking around unseen.  
“Aye. I wasn't planning on intervening, just watching the show. You know, see how the asp works.” He quieted his laughter as he handed her a pouch, “Flatters work for ya? We can pay you in pure if you'd like, but we'll need another day.”  
She took the pouch and made a mental note of its weight, “Flatters are fine. I trust I don't need to count it?”  
He grinned, “Can if you want, lass, won't offend the likes of me. We're good for our coin if for nothing else.”  
She shrugged, finding it funny that he called her a lass, “I know where to find you all. So, is that it?”  
“Yep. You want a signature? Maybe we should shake?” he continued to grin. “Jobs done, love; you've done it good as any and better. In fact, if you want another, we got one just for you. Fresh in fact and right up your alley.”  
She took a deep breath, “Oh, so soon? One fledgling dictator done out in a day isn't enough for you?”  
“I'm serious. It's a little irregular, I'd, but if you like the weight of those flatters in your tunic you're gonna like what I have to say... if you're willing to listen.”  
She was hesitant to take another job for the guild, especially so soon, but he had been right about the weight of the coins. Lattia's economy was slightly complicated in the sense that it was a multi country commerce center. Many different kinds of currencies were traded throughout its markets but the 'flatter', as many of the locals called them, was a type of coin manufactured specifically for inner city trade. Being made of gold, silver and a bit of platinum, the value of the coin was usually higher than that of other currencies, and more merchants were willing to accept it as payment and give discounts because of it, if for no other reason than to avoid the changing fee. It had been a good long while since Dayala had such a sum of money to her name, and the idea of getting more so quickly was too tempting to resist, “Very well, tell me of this job.”  
The assassin nodded, “Not here. Let's go for a drink at the Blue Horn. It’s close and people will leave us alone there.”  
“Fine. Lead the way.”

To Dayala's surprise, the Blue horn was a nice, classic pub. She'd pictured a rat's lair full of shifty individuals and cut throats, but then, she didn't have very much experience with local establishments. In the past, she'd ventured in at some such place for a drink or two, but she could always feel the eyes on her. This time was different. As they entered, no one seemed to pay them any mind, though it did seem as though a few recognized the man she was with and stayed clear of him. That suited Dayala just fine, and despite her strange company she actually enjoyed herself as they sat at a far booth.  
“Care for a bite? If you're not a fish eater they've got lamb here; a bit over seasoned but it's passable.”  
She shook her head, “No, thank you, beer is fine.”  
He smiled, “Beer is fine. A woman who drinks beer? You're just a bag of surprises, asp.”  
“I've been around a time or two,” she replied as a server came over and took their drink orders.  
“No doubt; I'm sure you've got some heart rending tales. But that's not why we're here,” the man said as he folded his hands onto the table in front of him.  
“No,” she agreed. “It's not. So... what's this job about?”  
He laughed, more boisterously than he had before, “If you don't take that stick out from your arse then I may begin thinking you're a puppet. Lighten the fuck up, love, gods you're so dreary looking.”  
She winced, realizing only then how tense she must have seemed, “Fine... sure. So, are we going to talk or not?”  
The server returned with two tankards and the assassin swept one of them up fluidly, “Yes, now we can talk. Take a drink, you'll feel better.”  
She looked at the tankard in front of her and frowned for longer than she'd intended to.  
He set his own tankard down and blinked at her, “What's wrong?”  
She shook her head, “Nothing really... just...”  
He furrowed his brow before a huge grin overtook his features, “Oh for fucking crying out loud, you think your drink is poisoned?”  
“No, it's not that... it's just...”  
He laughed once more, “Dear gods and everything holy in nine hells; here.” he grabbed her tankard and poured a good bit of it into his own, then passed it back to her, “If we wanted you dead, love, you'd be dead a dozen times by now. If you're a lover of anything decent in life, drink, gods damn you.” he said as he raised the tankard to his lips.  
Dayala sighed, feeling slightly sheepish at her overly active sense of survival. She hadn't felt particularly threatened, but it had been many years since she'd had a drink with a stranger and the whole experience was putting her on edge, “You must think I'm mad,” she said aloud after taking a deep swig of the dark draft.  
“No, not mad. You've the markings of a hermit, that's all. But hell, that ain't none of my business. What is my business, is this proposition. The best part about it, and I'll tell you upfront, is that you don't even have to kill anyone.”  
Her curiosity piqued instantly, “How does that work?”  
“Good question. It's like this: there's a certain fellow we've been trying to locate for quite some time now. Its costing us a lot of capital and we don't have any results to show our client, who is growing ever more impatient by the day. We do however, have a recent lead. A man, whose name I will give you if you agree to the job, may know the location of our target. The situation, not unlike the situation you helped us with earlier, isn't as straightforward as one might hope. For reasons largely undisclosed to us, the man with the information we need is not be tortured or hurt in any way. It's a bit irregular given the kind of work we do, but that's the emphatic wish of our contract holder. Last night, when we met in the forest, I saw you and I thought to myself, 'gods, she'd be perfect for this job', but I didn't mention it because we obviously had prior business. I figured, if you did the job well, and you did indeed, then perhaps I'd run it by the higher ups and see what they thought. Needless to say, they were quite impressed with your work, so they gave me the go ahead to offer you this job.”  
“So what am I supposed to do? I can't kill him and I can't torture him, but I'm supposed to glean some very specific information from him?”  
“I'm glad the complexity of the job isn't lost on you. Yes, that's exactly what we need you to do. I won't beat around the bush; you possess certain assets that a man like me simply does not.”  
Dayala narrowed her eyes as she realized what he was saying, “I'm not a whore. I kill for money, same as you. If you just need someone to sleep with him and get him to spill his guts, leave me out of it.”  
The assassin raised his hand slowly, “Hold up, miss asp. Let me level with you here before you storm off like a woman on her monthly.” he lowered his voice slightly, “This is a serious job with serious payment: hear me out. If it were as simple as hiring a disease ridden night girl to rub out his pecker and sweet talk him don't you think we would have done that already? I saw you work today and it was fucking brilliant. You've got real talent and I acknowledge you as a fellow professional. Are you still feeling the weight of those flatters? I hope so, because if you do this job successfully you'll receive twice the amount in payment.”  
Whatever anger had begun to well up in her quickly diminished at the mention of such money. She settled back into the booth and cradled the tankard in both of her hands, “I apologize for my attitude... it was unwarranted. Continue please.”  
He nodded, “I understand why you'd be upset, but we're all about business, you and I. All right, I'll continue then. This man we're talking about, he's quite rich and affluent, but word on the street is that he's been feeling a bit lonely as of late. We have reports of him signing up for a high class matching service, maybe you've heard of it; they call themselves 'the one and only' companion service. This is not a whorehouse, miss asp, this is a legitimate matching service that's put together by one of the council's daughter, Jaelyn Howell. Basically, rich lonely men sign up to meet other rich lonely women and if they are well matched then they'll be married and probably live a miserable, sexless, loveless life together. But I digress. Their operation pulls in massive amounts of capital while basically doing nothing but providing romantic atmospheres and fancy tea to would be romantics. Now I'm all about the bottom line, Miss asp. We both have a pretty good brain floating around in our skull but as I said before, you've got some things that I don't, namely a pretty face, tits and a nice ass. So yes, you get close to him, seduce him, get him to trust you, then he tells you everything and you leave him alone and possibly broken hearted. We have drugs that can help you loosen his tongue, you don't have to fuck him, or fuck him a dozen times for all I care. Your job is to do whatever you have to do to him without hurting him and to get out with the location of our target, we don't care how you accomplish that. As you can well imagine, it would probably be easier if our job was just to kill him, but then, we wouldn't be having this conversation, would we?”  
She didn't appreciate the way he was addressing her, as an object, but she'd developed enough of a skin over the years to let the man's piggish verbiage slide. Besides, she was being offered an incredible amount of money, and any disrespect she felt was largely overshadowed by the prospect. She shook her head slowly, thinking about how daunting the task would be, “No, we wouldn't.”  
“I have a guy that can get your name on the interview list. It would also be your job to make sure that they pick you. You'll go in for an interview, under a fake name of course, and convince them that you're perfect wife material. I have a list prepared that will help you rehearse for the part. If you agree, I'll give you as many resources as I can.”  
Dayala pursed her lips and thought hard about the offer. It very well might prove to be the hardest job she'd ever done, which was ironic considering that she wasn't going in to kill anyone. After considering several reasons to decline, in the end, the money was just too good. She would have been hard pressed to make that much with a dozen jobs; it was essentially a year's wage for the average honest working person. “I'll do it,” she said finally after taking another drink.  
“Excellent. I'll fill you in on all the details then. So... first off, your lucky man's name is Aaron Sayder.”  
She nodded, wondering suddenly what the hell she had gotten herself into.

Two days later, Dayala found herself standing in front of the One and Only. It was a two story complex built upon one of the most prestigious streets in the upper city; a place that she herself had seldom had a reason to visit. Yet there she was, staring at the ornately painted sign as she passed it, feeling horribly out of place in the clothing she was wearing. She'd made a trip to an elven tailor the day before and spent a considerable amount of money on a new, light sage and orange colored dress. She made her way up the steps and shivered slightly, unused to the draft and the feeling of openness around her thighs. She'd put up her hair in such a way that it covered her ears, though she hoped the pins would hold. She'd also done something else she hadn't done in decades: put on makeup. She'd purchased a bit of foundation to cover some of the scars on her face and shoulders and had tried to make herself look a little less haggard around the eyes. Physically, she really did look like a woman in her late twenties, and she hoped that her acting would be at least as good as her appearance.  
She took a deep breath and knocked on the pure white door. It was opened a moment later by a kind looking elderly woman who invited her in. She followed the woman and took a seat while she waited for the owner to see her. She looked around the interior nervously, unaccustomed to being in such lavish places. In her opinion, there was far too much ivory mixed into the décor, and the gold trim that surrounding nearly everything just made the place look gaudy.  
“Miss Yeowich?” She heard someone ask as she looked up.  
Dayala blinked as she focused her eyes on the woman who must have been the owner. She was surprised to see that it was an elf who spoke to her and not a human, “Y, yes, that's me,” she said a little sheepishly, trying to convey her surprise as shyness.  
“Pleased to meet you, I'm Jaelyn Howel.” the woman said as she extended her hand. She was likely older than Dayala, though they both looked about the same age.  
Dayala took the woman's hand and tried to shake it as daintily as possible, “I've heard so much about you and this place... I can't believe I'm here.”  
Jaelyn chuckled, “We're thrilled to have you. If you'd like to follow me this way we can proceed with the interview and see what the future has in store for you.”  
“Yes, of course,” the disguised half breed replied with a smile as she shuffled behind the woman.

Dayala stumbled through the interview easily enough. She'd concocted a backstory for her alter ego that she hoped wouldn't have too many holes in it, but thankfully Jaelyn hadn't asked too much about her history. What was harder for the woman were the personality questions. Nearly all of them were answered by Miss Saya Yeowich, a wonderful, nearly perfect woman whom didn't exist. Miss Yeowich loved animals, especially puppies. She loved to cook and to garden and yes of course she wanted children someday because she simply adored children. She could sew and keep house and she loved to volunteer. She was everything that her target, Aaron Sayder, apparently wanted in a woman. As Dayala continued to speak, she felt increasingly disgusted with both herself and Miss Yeowich. If Miss Yeowich were a real person and she met her on the street, Dayala might have punched the woman square in the jaw for no reason at all. Jaelyn laughed all the while at Dayala's answers as she took notes. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the interview ended and Jaelyn took a look at her notes.  
“Well Miss Yeowich, give me just a moment here and I'll try and match you as best I can. Don't you worry, I've been doing this a long time; I'll get you matched with someone perfect for you.”  
Dayala nodded as she continued to smile stupidly. She sipped her wine impatiently and tried not to sigh: pretending to be nice and happy was exhausting.  
“Well,” Jaelyn said after a few moments, “Normally, I take a little more time to match my clients, but our interview went so well that I think I already have one for you. Tell me, have you heard of a man named Tayal Onsin?”  
Shit. Dayala thought suddenly as her stomach dropped. She had memorized the script so perfectly that she'd scarcely considered the possibility of being matched with a totally random stranger. Her mind raced as she tried to keep her cool, “Oh... no... I haven't.”  
Jaelyn frowned, “What's wrong, Miss Yeowich? I promise you that if you'll just give him a chance then...”  
“I have a confession to make,” Dayala said suddenly. “The reason I'm here... well, I had someone in mind already...” she trailed off, hoping to sound so forlorn that it would offset any suspicion.  
“Oh? Why didn't you say so, child. We build our business here around matching people we think are compatible, but it’s not unheard of for us to 'encourage' certain couples to give each other a chance,” she smiled. “What's his name?”  
“Aaron Sayder,” Dayala said quietly as she watched the woman's eyes narrow.  
“I see. And how did you know that Mr. Sayder had come to visit us?” Jaelyn asked, sounding a little less nice than she had before.  
“I'm sorry,” Dayala squeaked. “I... I followed him here the day he came to sign up. I've been wanting to talk with him for so long, but there are so many other women he's had to deal with. I was afraid that... well, that he would write me off as just another tart trying to grab at his money. I'm a stranger here and I don't have any friends who could introduce him to me... it was a mistake, I know and probably wrong, I'm sorry.”  
Jaelyn sighed and smiled slightly, “It's all right. Mr. Sayder is an especially delicate client, that's all, and I wouldn't want him to think that we give out our client's information. This service is supposed to be confidential, you understand that, don't you?”  
Dayala nodded, holding on the the shy act, “Yes... I'm well aware.”  
“Good. Now then, as long as you don't go and tell him that you knew he signed up... I suppose arranging a date with him could be possible.”  
She slapped her hand over her mouth, “Oh really? That would be so wonderful!”  
The owner of the establishment lifted her hand, “On the condition that you promise not to tell him that we intentionally matched you two. The last thing we need is a bad reputation, Miss Yeowich... do you think you can do that?”  
“Yes, absolutely, I won't tell a soul,” Dayala said. Ironically enough, it was the first time during their entire conversation where she had told the truth.  
“Good. Truth be told, I had considered matching you two before you even told me,” Jaelyn said with a smile. “I can't blame you for wanting us to arrange a meeting with him; he's a bit paranoid and I can see why you had a hard time approaching him. He has had a bit of a rough time lately with young courtesans and prettier than richer aristocrats vying for his attention.”  
“Thank you so much, Mrs. Howell, you won't regret it,” Dayala said with a smile.  
Jaelyn sighed with a small smile of her own, “Let's hope not. How's tonight around six sound? There will be dinner for both of you and music, then afterwards a private room will be available to you if you both choose to use it.”  
“That sounds wonderful; yes, six is fine.”  
“Very well, I'll send a message to him right away.”  
Dayala nodded, feeling a wave of relief wash over her. Now all she had to do was sit through what she was sure would be a dreary night of mediocre conversation.

Once again she found herself in the library. She had a few hours to kill before she went back to the One and Only so she decided to keep her disguise on and read in the upper room instead of the basement. After spending some time there, she decided that while she was already taking chances she would go to a nearby cafe and have a drink.  
She walked into the small building and ordered herself a coffee. The server nodded, took her money and gave her change. She leaned against the bar as she watched the man make her drink. The entire experience had been so... normal. It had been only on very rare occasion that she'd entered an establishment that was human or elf owned and somebody, usually the owner, hadn't given her a dirty look. It was incredible how a little dash of make up and the covering of her ears could completely change how people perceived her. She thanked the server as she received her drink and smiled lightly to herself. She sipped the drink carefully and shook her head, feeling quite a strange mixture of emotions. Something as simple as buying a cup of coffee without a disguise could potentially cause her more public shaming than most people would ever encounter in a lifetime. She laughed lowly as she enjoyed her beverage; at the very least, it was delicious and she wasn't about to let her mood ruin that.

Just as the sun was setting, Dayala waited in the garden behind the One and only for her date. She didn't have to pretend to be nervous, she really was. She had no idea what kind of personality the man had or how easy he would be to sway, but she was determined to follow through with the job given the amount of money it promised. Several minutes passed as she pretended to admire the roses, until finally she heard someone shuffle up behind her.  
“Excuse me... Miss Yeowich?” She heard a mellow yet masculine voice behind her.  
Dayala turned and blinked, “Y,yes?”  
The man who faced her was both much younger and much better looking than she'd anticipated, “Aaron Sayder,” he said with a slight bow.  
She extended her hand slowly and blushed slightly as he took it, “Saya... pleasure to meet you,” Dayala replied a little shyly.  
Aaron smiled widely, “I'm not usually one to give out brash compliments to complete strangers, but I must say, your eyes are strikingly beautiful, Miss Yeowich.”  
Her blush deepened. Her experience with men in a romantic setting was limited at best, but it seemed to be working to her advantage, “Please, call me Saya; and thank you.”  
“Saya it is then. I hope you'll do me the pleasure of being equally familiar by calling me Aaron.”  
“Very well, Aaron,” she gestured to a grouping of benches nearby and smiled, “Shall we?”

The night wore on as Dayala and her clueless suitor talked. Against everything she might have assumed about the evening, she was enjoying herself immensely. She constantly reminded herself of why she was there, but she continued to indulge their dialogue. It had been so long since she’d had a pleasant, meaningful conversation with someone that she couldn't help herself, but all the while she felt the forbidding prodding of her purpose. He talked mainly of his work and she of her hobbies in a roundabout way, making it easy for her to converse with him naturally. Finally, he commented on the lateness of the hour and she took her que, “Oh, you're not leaving, are you? I so wish that we could continue our conversation.” She smiled innocently, her performance not only believable but downright genuine, since she really was enjoying herself.  
He smiled nervously, “I, uh, didn't want to assume upon your time, miss.”  
She smiled easily, “you're not assuming anything. You know as well as I do that there's a room prepared for us in the event that the night becomes too chilly,” she stood slowly, “And I am so parched by all of this wonderful conversation. Mr. Sayder… forgive me for being so forward, but… if you would join me for a night cap it would make me so happy.”  
Aaron attempted to mask the excitement that fell over his features, “C, certainly. That would make me happy, as well.”  
He stood along with her and she walked toward the night quarters, hoping that she didn't look as nervous as she felt. 

The thought of being alone in a secluded room with a man whom she wasn't trying to kill would have made Dayala uncomfortable if she'd dwelled on it too much. But there at a low table in front of an easy going fire, she felt no discomfort whatsoever as she continued their discussion. The room was small and cozy with a low ceiling and warm, red colored walls. Throw pillows of all shapes and sizes covered the floor and piled up around a round bed with beveled sides that was clearly not made for sleeping. Dayala had deliberately avoided that side of the room and had opted instead to sit at the table. She didn't want her suitor to think she was some common prostitute fresh off the street, and she felt that an overly flirtatious attitude might likewise hinder her efforts to get closer to the man. A part of her had hoped that he might be coaxed into bed easily, since it would be easier for her to do what she intended if he were laying down. It seemed that things would not be so easy, however. Even as he spoke, she listened intently and studied his features and his movements. It was as Jaelyn had said: this man was clearly looking for a wife whom he could love and connect with. He liked her very much, that much was apparent, and as they continued to speak she became increasingly regretful. Still, the amount of money she'd been promised was so great; surely she could endure whatever the night had in store for her. After all, she had no intention to harm the man, and he would soon recover from whatever heart ache she might inadvertently inflict upon him. He was rich, good looking and had a great personality, although he was a bit aloof. They'd spent the last thirty minutes talking about designer silverware, and Dayala was running out of things to say about it. Thankfully, he was doing most of the talking, and he finally came to his conclusion a moment later.  
“And that is why I got out of that whole business; it's just never going to be what it used to be.”  
She nodded, continuing to act like his ideal woman, “I agree. It's tragic, but as far as I'm concerned, if it's not hand made, how can people demand such a high price for it? The use of moulds certainly denotes consistency and quality throughout every piece, but it is the very inconsistencies that make a set special. It's no different with dinnerware, clothing, or any other product that reaches past it's base purpose and into the realm of art and finery.”  
“Exactly!” Aaron hit the edge of the table passionately, “You understand!”  
Beside the fireplace, a cart full of spirits and wines stood resolutely. Her suitor had drank more readily than Dayala, which was beginning to show. He picked up his glass and finished the last of the wine he was drinking before he set it down and considered it blankly.  
Dayala gave the empty glad a cursory glance and rose evenly, “Aaron, would you allow me to mix you a drink? I know several recipes for cocktails that I haven't seen in this city.”  
“Oh?” He smiled eagerly, “I can't say no to that; please do.”  
She stepped over to the cart and looked over the bottles for a moment. The gorgeous crystal and glass vessels were different sizes and shapes, and the light from the fire caused the multi colored liquids inside to look ethereal and magical. She placed her hand on one and began to speak lowly, facing away from him, “When I was younger my mother taught me how to mix wine and spirits into other drinks. It's a good way to make rare liquor go a little further… and it's an easy way to impress guests.”  
“No doubt. I have very little experience with preparing drinks, myself; I'm usually such a purist,” he chuckled. “I'm looking forward to it.”  
Of course, the story about her mother was a lie, but she did know quite a bit about mixing drinks. Most all medicinal salves used alcohol as a base, and the ones that needed to be be ingested went down easier when they didn't taste so bad. She took up a fresh glass and poured a bit of spirit into it, “you'll be honest with me if you don't care for it, I hope? I can always make another,” she said as she slipped her hand into her blouse and produced a thin vial.  
“Oh, I'm sure that won't be a problem,” he replied jovially with a contented sigh.   
She poured the contents into the glass soundlessly before replacing the vial, “You're quite trusting, Mr. Sayder. What makes you think that I'm not just trying to inebriate you so I can keep you here all night?” She asked playfully with a small laugh.  
“I'm not opposed to the idea,” he returned her laugh.   
She finished the drink and stirred it with the silver mixer that was at hand. She stared into the liquid as the shiny metal tip tinked lightly against the glass. Taking up the glass, she turned and set it before him, “there we are.”  
He sniffed at it for a moment before he took a careful sip. His eyes widened.  
“Well?” She asked with a smile. “You won't hurt my feelings if you don't like it.”  
He took another sip, “No, it's marvelous. Well done, Saya, truly.”  
She beamed, “I'm glad to hear it.”  
“What do you call it?” He asked suddenly.   
She gave him a sideways smile at the unexpected question, “Oh, I don't really have a name for it… should I?”  
He smiled, “No, I suppose not. Naming drinks may just be another way a man can sell something simple for too high a price. All posh and no substance, you know?”  
She laughed lightly, “Well spoken. I might be able to turn a nice profit if I were to call it a ‘candid lily’, or better yet, how about 'silver haze’.”  
“There it is!” He grinned and took another drink. “You might have missed your calling as a bartender.”  
“I prefer keeping it as a hobbie. Besides, mixing alcohol isn't exactly the most ladylike profession out there; I've never seen a female bartender in this city.”  
“Bah,” he shrugged, “who cares about that? If you've got talent, you shouldn't let yourself be held back by such social hindrances. Besides, you don't seem like the type of woman who really cares about her high society image… that's why I fancy you so much.”  
She blushed, “I don't care as much as I should… that's quite perceptive of you.”  
He realized himself and he flushed, “perhaps I've said too much… it's not right for me to make assumptions about you based solely on…”  
“You assumed correctly,” she interrupted him gently, seeing that his cheeks were beginning to redden, “I have many interests that most would say are decidedly unladylike… consequently, I have very few real friends,” she said regretfully. The regret in her voice had been simulated, but the words she spoke felt far truer to her than she had meant them to be.   
He nodded slowly, “I know exactly how you feel. I too, have several, shall we say, eccentric interests.” He blinked slowly, looking as if he were about to faint. A moment later, however, he recovered and shook his head slowly, “Hm, had a bit of a dizzy spell there for a moment… perhaps I should slow down with the booze.”  
She laughed lightly, “Perhaps you should. I apologize for playing the part of devil's advocate on that end.”  
He waved his hand, “No, no, it's not your fault I can't keep my liquor down like I used to. There was a time, not so long ago, that I could drink with the best of them. But now… well, I don't get out much.”  
Dayala nodded slowly. She could tell that the drug she'd given her would be courter was beginning to take effect. It was not a very strong concoction, nor was it meant to be. She needed him to be relaxed, yet conscious for what she had planned. He'd be no good to her at all if he were hallucinating or intoxicated to the point of incomprehension. “Aaron… this may be too personal a query, but… you speak as if your best years are behind you. Why is that so? There is an air of melancholy about you that seems invincible… what has happened to you to that has made you like this?”  
He gave her a long, hard look before he smiled widely, “Surely I do not look so forlorn as to warrant alarm? Am I so transparent?”  
She shook her head, “Not at all, it's not so obvious unless someone is looking for it.”  
“Ah,” was all he replied. A long moment passed before he spoke once more, “I am tired, Saya. Really, there isn't much more to it than that. I hate politics and I despise grandstanding… often I think of liquidating my estate and moving far away into the country.”  
“Why don't you?” She asked quietly, biding her time as she waited for the drug to take its full effect.   
He chuckled humorlessly, offering her a sardonic smirk, “I am a coward. I hate my money and my estate, but I love the comfort it brings. I wish the reasons were different, but this is the truth.” He chuckled once more, “I'm afraid of everything outside this area of the city, let alone what's outside the borders of it. With rumors of war running rampant these days, my fear has made me progressively mouse like. Thusly, I have become quite unhappy with my life. I thought that perhaps I'd be happier if I took a wife, but it didn't take me long to figure out that women find my money interesting and not me… so here I sit alone and afraid like so many useless men before me.”  
It was Dayala’s turn to chuckle, “Now, now, Mr Sayder, you can't collectively speak for every member of my sex. I personally find you plenty interesting… and I don't want your money.”  
He gave her an incredulous, almost self loathing glance, “Let’s say I believe you. Given that, I have admitted to you that I'm a cowardly man. Your opinion of me must have changed at least slightly.”  
She pursed her lips. It was clear that he was admitting things to her that he most likely would not have without the mixture she'd given him. Even so, his alacrity and intensity was unnerving. She hadn't expected him to be so honest, and she realized that in order for her to accomplish what she must she needed to be at least as honest about herself, “Changed, yes, but not for the worse.” She glanced into the fire and continued, “There are are a great many men in this world who speak of bravery and courage, but anyone in their right mind if afraid. Death potentially lies around every corner and we are so fragile.” She paused and licked her lips, which suddenly felt dry, “Moving away to a different place is hard, Mr Sayder. There's a lot of uncertainty and there's no guarantee that you'll be any better off there than where you came from. I think your fear is rational and your honesty is worth more to me than a thousand words spoken in false bravery. Fear can be overcome, but nothing can save the fool who thinks himself braver than he is.”  
A span of thoughtful silence passed before he replied, “Your words are kind, miss… Saya. You are quite the woman. You remind me very much of someone I used to know… someone very dear to me.”  
She tried to hide her expectant smile. She had planned on turning the conversation, but she hoped that he had done it for her, “Oh? What person would this be?” she asked, looking back at him from the fire.  
He gave her another long look, “He was… a friend. From long ago.”  
“What kind of man was he?”  
He shook his head, “I shouldn't talk about it… I’ve said too much already.”  
She frowned, surprised by his sudden resistance. The drug she'd slipped into his drink had been meant to calm him and to give him a sense of security. He'd been responding well to it, but the unexpected wall he'd thrown up made her rethink her strategy. Clearly, she would have to lull him further without asking direct questions, “I see. If you've a secret to keep, I won't attempt to pry it from you. I understand that some things must be buried… I wouldn't make you dig up such things simply to slake my curiosity.”   
He relaxed noticeably, “thank you. It's not personal, I simply made a promise.”  
“She smiled, “I do understand,. If you can't talk about him, can you at least tell me about what we have in common?” She paused and decided to take a chance, “Perhaps… there is something about me that draws you, just as you were drawn to him?”  
Her attempt to focus the conversation on herself worked, “Well, I suppose there couldn't be any harm that.” He gave her a quick, flitting glance, “I do feel drawn to you, Saya… very much so. You are beautiful, but it's more than that. You're… different somehow.”  
I'm nearly three times older than you for starters, she thought morosely before saying, “good different or bad?”  
He gave her a dreamy smile, “Good. You are so strong; stronger than myself certainly.”  
“I'm not as strong as you think I am,” she giggled.   
He shook his head, “Oh, but you must be. Surely you feel lonely in this city, being the way you are? Men who have had nearly everything given to them since birth do not typically possess the strength of will to satisfy a woman such as yourself.”  
She laughed nervously, once more slightly taken back by his words, “Do I exude such experience and worldliness that I might render myself undesirable?”  
“Perhaps.” He replied offhandedly before glancing up at her, “Oh, but I don't mean that in a bad way. I'm saying that lesser men such as myself might be quite intimidated by your presence of mind.”  
Dayala suppressed the urge to laugh. It seemed that as good as her acting was, she wasn't entirely unable to hide certain things about herself. She stood slowly and moved to the other side of the room. She sat upon a long nook built into the wall and patted her knee, “Mr Sayder, come here, please.”  
From where he say, it seemed as if she'd floated over to the nook. He nodded wordlessly before he stood and made his way, albeit a little stiffly, to the seat beside her.  
Sensing his awkwardness, she placed her hand on his shoulder and gave him a reassuring squeeze, “I'm not going to hurt you. If you would, I would like you to lie down on my lap.”  
He swallowed hard, “why?”  
She laughed, “Mr Sayder, I assure you I have no ill intentions. If it makes you feel any better, both my clothes and yours will stay on for the duration of the evening.”  
Her statement seemed to put him at ease, although he still looked unsure. He shifted his body away from her and lowered himself down slowly until his head came to rest upon her legs. He blinked up at her fearfully and expectantly, “Like so?”  
She smiled, “Just so, yes. You look as if I plan to bear down my set of fangs upon you at any moment.” She placed her hand atop his forehead and applied a bit of force with a massaging movement. “Relax. I told you I'm not going to hurt you… good,” she commented quietly as she watched his eyes close slowly. Her fingers were long and slender and she employed them dexterously over his forehead and temples. Anyone experienced enough to look for the signs would find a wealth of information regarding her just by looking at her hands and might be able to guess at the kind of work she did. However, despite their many old calluses and scars, the tips of her fingers were still velvety soft and the shape of her hands overall was dainty and unmistakably feminine.  
Aaron sighed lowly, “Saya… what have I done to deserve such treatment?”  
“Hm? Does it hurt?” She asked as she smiled despite herself.   
“No,” he whispered. “It's wonderful. I… I've never, I mean to say… a woman has never touched me like this.”  
She uttered an airy, almost silent laugh, “no surprise there. I’d wager that there are many things that I could do for you that you've never experienced, none of which are as vulgar or as unrefined as what most men expect.”  
“I don't doubt that,” he murmured. “How… where did you learn to…”  
“Shhh,” she hushed him gently. “You think too much. Let me do this simple thing for you… just relax. We are safe here, it's only you and I. I want nothing from you, I only want you to relax,” she whispered to him as she applied a bit more pressure.   
The tenseness in his body lessened considerably as he sighed once more, “Yes... very well.”  
She massaged his face slowly and deliberately for a long while until she was convinced that he was completely relaxed. Afterwards, she slid her nimble fingers into his hair and began to massage his scalp gently.   
Aaron groaned slightly, obviously enjoying himself.   
She smiled once more, “there are many ways that a person can take pleasure, Mr Sayder. We humans tend to think solely in terms of intercourse. The elves however… their attitude towards sex is completely different.” She spoke lowly to him as her fingers moved, admiring his features all the while. He was undoubtedly a handsome man, though it was clear that he was aging faster than he ought to be, given how much of a worrier he was. “When the high elves couple, they give themselves to each other for life. Very few bond with each other these days, since the risk is great. It's said that those couples that are bonded are so connected to each other that they can communicate without speaking and can feel each other's emotions. When they bond for the first time, it's not uncommon for them to have a very long honeymoon. I've read stories about newly bonded couples who made love to each other for days on end. Can you imagine such a thing?”  
“N, no,” he murmured as he became increasingly enamored with her, “How do they accomplish such a deep relationship?”  
“I don't know,” she answered honestly. “But I do know that the couple must be completely honest with each other; they must not hide anything from one another.”  
“I see,” he whispered regretfully, his eyes still closed.   
“I share your feelings on the matter,” she replied, once more feeling that the conversation was far too relatable for comfort. “We keep so many secrets from each other… all of us. We hide our desires and our prejudices, our lusts and our anguish. How comforting it would be to have someone in your life who could see all of those things and yet still love you… someone you could trust with your greatest hopes and your most terrible secrets.”  
“Yes,” the businessman upon her lap agreed with her, seemingly beginning to fall into the first stages of a deep sleep.   
The assassin knew then that the man she was cradling was as relaxed as he could be without being entirely asleep. She needed to work quickly before he drifted off, but if she moved too quickly, she might disturb him and miss her chance. “Mr Sayder, you seem to be very much like myself. You have lots of secrets… secrets that cause you to lie awake at night. You've made so many promises to people and you bear the burden of those promises daily,” she said quietly as she reached up to her head with her free hand. She pulled a small pin from her hair that was scarcely larger than the average sewing needle. Deftly, she folded the pin into her hand and pricked her index finger with it slowly and purposefully. There was only a little pain as she felt the sharp point break her skin, and she easily dismissed it as she continued, “I feel that we have a connection. There's something about you that makes me want to trust you completely… perhaps it's the fear we both share.” She pushed down onto the pad of her finger as she watched the perfect red dot blossom, “I am not as strong as I appear. I am friendless in a city where one's friends might decide one's fate. I sleep little, worry much and I'm always wondering if I've done the right thing for myself.”  
“I understand well,” Aaron murmured, his eyes still closed. “It’s been so long since I’ve found someone I could trust. I was wondering, perhaps… we could become good friends?” He asked hopefully, his voice barely more than a whisper.  
“Yes, I was hoping that too,” she smiled down at him as she placed her bloodied finger upon his forehead. Her blood was warm, of course, and her victim took no notice as she began to gently trace a rune over his skin, “It is so freeing to be able to speak openly with someone without fear of judgment. I'd like to be very good friends with you… perhaps more…” she breathed her honied words to him as she finished drawing the rune. Already, the bright red ink was beginning to dry to a scarlet brown as she glanced over it. It wasn't a perfectly drawn rune, but it would do. Sheezal’s mark: that was the name of the rune. Allegedly, it had been developed by a beautiful nomadic witch who lured unsuspecting men into her tent in order to steal various parts of their bodies. It was a very powerful rune, but also very fragile. One activated, Dayala would have the man hypnotized to her will, but even the slightest upset would break the trance. The mewling of a cat outside, a loud thump in the next room over, nearly any sound or action that went outside the small, comfortable confines of the blissful state he was in could free him. She'd could only hope that the spell would hold long enough for her to get the information she needed. Not wanting to waste any more time, she leaned forward and spoke the words softly, “Sa’tray et at’ka.”  
The faintest white glow emanated from the rune for less than a second as the man that lay on top of her sighed. Slowly, she stroked the side of his face and smiled, “Aaron… are you still with me?”  
“Yes,” his reply was even and small, as if he were responding from within a dream.   
“Good. We were speaking of your friend earlier, the one you promised never to talk about. I understand your promise, but you must tell me about him.”  
“Yes… what would you like to know?” He murmured softly, his eyes still closed.   
“Everything you can tell me about him, but first, I need to know where he is.”  
A gentle smile crept into the man's features, “I don't know… The last time I saw him was seven, almost eight years ago. He could be anywhere in the world.”  
She tried to keep her frustration in check, “The last time you spoke with him, where was he headed? Did he mention any particular place to you?”  
“Hmm, yes. He told me that he was headed for the Sketton; I told him he was insane. He insisted that he would be far safer there than anywhere else.”  
Dayala pursed her lips. The Sketton wasn't a place so much as it was a region. Far north of where she was currently residing, the Sketton stood nearly two hundred miles square, a wild, thickly forested area that few people inhabited. She'd never been that far north, but she'd heard plenty of stories about land that was too difficult to cultivate and trees that were dozens of times taller than the tallest towers ever built. In short, neither of the two major powers wanted the land; it was simply too difficult to farm and the trees were apparently so dense that a man could easily break his axe on the bark alone.  
“Why did he go there? Was he running from someone?” She asked, excited that she'd gleaned the information she needed but eager to learn more. Her employer hadn't mentioned anything other than wanting to know the man's last known destination, but it was in her nature to find out as much as she could.  
“To escape… everything, I suppose,” the entranced man murmured thoughtfully. “He never told me exactly why he was leaving, but… he was a powerful man, the strongest man I've ever known. If he were on the run then those hunting him must be very formidable indeed.”  
Or very numerous, Dayala mused. “How long did you know him for? Describe your relationship with him to me,” she pressed. There was something more going on than the assassin's guild just wanting another man dead. This seemed like a special situation, and anyone who could fall off the map for nearly a decade from such a persistent opponent was most certainly a force to be reckoned with.   
“I knew him for several months...Our relationship was most secretive.”  
She nodded slowly, “Secretive how? Was he your lover?”  
A wry smile came over the man as the corner of his lip turned up, “Yes and no. I loved him dearly, but not as one would love a lover. He was...My friend. He told me many things and I shared many secret things with him.”  
Dayala had no interest in whatever secrets her would be courter was keeping, but she was becoming increasingly interested in the person whom she'd been commissioned to gather information about, “Tell me more about him. What did he look like?” She paused, “Why did you love him so?”  
“Gray. He was gray,” The antique dealer continued to smile slightly. “I loved him because he was everything I was not. He never told me, but I knew he had killed many people. His hands were so deeply stained with blood that no amount of atoning could make up for it. I… Could see it in his eyes and the way he moved. But he liked me, for some reason, he trusted me. Me, a man who could no more kill another person than he could move to a different place and start a new profession.”  
Gray… she thought, an old man perhaps? It was quite likely that a man getting on in years would become lonely and seek out a friend in which to confide in. In any case, his appearance was far less important than his personality and motive. One thing was certain, the man she was sent to collect information about was a fellow killer, one that must have been very good at covering his tracks.  
“You told me that I reminded you of your friend; how exactly?” She asked softly.   
“Oh. You and he strike me as very similar. You…” he laughed slightly in his dream state, “You must be very dangerous. I cannot tell if you've killed anyone or not, but it is well within your ability to do so. A man like me is nothing before someone like you...I knew it as soon as I set my eyes on you.” He sighed languidly, “You are one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen, but you could snap me like a twig if you chose to.”  
Dayala took a steady breath. What she had first mistaken for a streak of self deprecation in the man was actually a heightened understanding of himself. He did possess an extraordinary ability to read the true nature of others, and even in his vulnerable and hypnotized state, he was causing her some anxiety. Unable to deny her curiosity, she placed her hand on his head once more and asked, almost to herself, “and so you love me for this?”  
The same wry smile played over the man's features, “I do. But it is not for a man such as myself to obtain such as you. Lions do not couple with kittens, I being the kitten of course.”  
Dayala felt a knot forming in her stomach. It was one thing to take a man's life, but causing a person to fall in love with you with the full intent of using them and then leaving them seemed like the greater evil. She looked down at her victim and felt a terrible, almost overwhelming sense of responsibility. He was a cowardly man, through and through, but he was also one who knew himself and could see through others. His honesty scared her more than the thousands of lies she'd heard over the years and his pure intention with her had left her feeling like a betrayer. How many men had leered at her over the years with only one thing in mind? But he sought her as a wife, and it was more than anyone else had ever considered her for. She stroked his cheek gently and closed her eyes for a moment. A part of her didn't want it to end, the closeness and warmth of him. It had been such a long time since she’d been that close to anyone, and she drank the moment in selfishly, trying to somehow save it. Finally, she licked her dry lips and spoke very softly to him, almost at a whisper as she retraced the rune on his forehead, “Aaron, you have done very well. I need to leave you now… do you understand?”  
The man on her lap seemed to hesitate, “I do. I don't see how you could possibly want someone like me, and even if you did… I would spend my life living in your shadow. I think…” he muttered lowly as he seemed to be falling in a deeper state of sleep, “I think I would love you and hate you in equal measure… I can't give you what you need and you would be squandering yourself…” he trailed off.   
Dayala felt like laughing as she realized his bitter point . His words, while painful, were all too true, and though she knew it, she seemed to be having a harder time accepting it than her victim.She leaned forward and whispered softly to him, “Did you enjoy yourself this evening, Aaron?”  
“Hm, yes, very much,” he mumbled.   
She smiled sadly, “So have I. Listen to me…” she took a deep breath to try and gather her thoughts, “When next I speak your name, you will fall into a deep sleep. You will remember our night together… and you will remember that we made love. It was wonderful and passionate and it was one of the best nights of your life. You understood when I told you that we couldn't be together… You understood it just as you understand it now, but there were no hard or bitter feelings about the matter. You will move on and you will remember me as a friend, but you will not pine after me. You will continue to seek a wife and when you believe you have found the right woman you will not let your relationship be dictated by your fear. Do you understand?”  
“I do.”  
Dayala nodded, “Farewell… Aaron Sayder.”  
The man's body seemed to grow heavier as she felt him relax entirely. His breathing was slow and even as she shifted her weight from under him and stood. She made sure that he was lying in a comfortable position and gathered her wits before heading for the door. Quietly, she opened it and gave the sleeping man one last glance. As she closed the door behind her she felt something inside of her that she hadn't felt in a very long time. It was a deep, gnawing sort of feeling that reminded her of a time in her life that she would just as soon forget. She felt guilt.

“You're shitting me,” the man from the assassin's guild said flatly as he gave Dayala a look of incredulity.  
“I'm not. That's what he said: the Sketton. He was not in a position where he could lie to me, he was… obligated to tell me the truth.”  
The two were sitting across from each other at a low table, both with a tankard of ale sitting in front of them . The tavern they’d met at was different from the last, but both the layout and the atmosphere of the place were identical. It seemed that the assassin’s guild had a few taverns in the city that were at their disposal, or at least, they had no qualms about being quiet about what their customers were discussing during dinner.  
Her contact nodded slowly, his expression one of disgust, “Fine. It would certainly explain how he's managed to elude us for such a long time. But damn, that's a lot of land to cover and an entire army could be lost searching for one person in that cursed forest. Still, this is the information we needed and you did your job splendidly. My informant tells me that he saw your man from last night mosey on out around eleven o’clock this morning. Said he didn't have a scratch on him. What did you do to him?”  
Dayala snorted, “You know I'm not going to answer that. It's good enough that you got what you wanted, now I want my money.”  
The killer grinned, “It's already yours. When you return to your home, you'll find it beneath your bed, all nice and accounted for.”  
She stiffened, “You broke into my home?” She asked, trying to curb her sudden anger and sense of violation.  
The man chuckled, “Oh please, don't look so angry. Of course we know where you live and it was easier that way. It may not seem like the most professional way to go about it, but it's the most logical. No couriers, no tip offs, no chance of you getting mugged on the way back; we did you a favor. If we wanted you dead or to rob you blind we'd have done both by now. Besides, nothing was 'broken’ into; I doubt you'd have even noticed if I hadn't told you.”  
Dayala took no relief in the man's words, but she didn't doubt his claim. The guild was a powerful force with many contacts; it only reminded her of how much trouble she might have gotten herself into. Contracting her own jobs had been safer, but none had paid as well. Still, it was the first time since working with the guild that she felt a distant twinge of regret. Even if their method of delivery had been for purely professional reasons, Dayala couldn't help but think that it was also a subtle yet effective way to send a message to her regarding her position. “I’ll take your word for it then,” she replied calmly enough, though she was still disturbed at the thought of her home being so casually accessed without her permission.  
“Good.” Her contact pressed his hands together and leaned back. “You do good work. Any dolt can slip a knife or shoot a bolt into someone, but you've got a special skill set. I don't have anyone working for me that can do what you do...ever think about joining us?” He asked with a flat face.   
Dayala almost laughed, “No, I hadn't considered it.” She had, of course, but no amount of money could convince her to sign herself away to the sort of organization who would kill you if you decided you wanted out.  
He considered her for a moment before shrugging nonchalantly, “I see.” He grabbed his tankard and drained it without taking a breath before he set it down and stood up, “In that case, our business is concluded. We may speak again, we may not, but if I need a specialist I'll look you up.”  
Dayala nodded wordlessly as the man walked away.   
She waited around for awhile, not wanting to look too eager to leave. She finished her drink, terrible as it was, before rising and heading home. 

As she approached her home, Dayala couldn't help but feel on edge. If they really had paid her like they’d promised, then they would’ve had to have gotten in somehow. She checked the door and the ground around it, neither providing any signs that her home had been broken into. She examined the lock as carefully as she could in the darkness, but found nothing visible by the moonlight. Tired and slightly paranoid, she produced the key and unlocked the door. 

She lit several candles after locking the door behind her and went about the task of examining her belongings. Everything inside of her home was just as she'd left it. She sighed and double checked the door before flipping up her bed. At first, she saw nothing, but upon closer inspection it was obvious that a portion of the floor board had been pulled up recently. Pursing her lips, she drew a thick bladed utility knife from her side and worked at its edges until it creaked upward slightly. She set the knife down and took hold of the board with both hands before pulling it upward. It gave easily, the sediment between its old seams giving off a faint cloud of dust as she gained her balance and set it aside. Beneath the board, a strip of cold, hard dirt stood. She took up one of the candles and swept it over the exposed ground slowly, being sure not to overlook anything that might elude a casual glance. Eventually, she found a spot that looked lighter in color and softer than the ground surrounding it, and she smiled slightly as she felt a brief rush of excitement pulse through her. Working quickly yet carefully, she used her knife as a makeshift shovel and levered the ground upwards. She worked at it for several minutes, using the flat of blade to scoop out the recently disturbed dirt. Finally, she hit something that felt hard and she almost laughed, “Nine hells, they made it hard enough to get to,” she muttered to herself as she floated the candle over the shallow hole. It appeared to be what looked like a wooden box buried, and she grunted when she realized that she'd only unearthed the corner. Her excitement was quickly turning to irritation as she scraped around the box to further loosen the dirt around it. Finally, she was able to pull it out of the ground, and she did so with an equal measure of chagrin and triumph. It was not a large box; it might have been the width of two hand spans, and it was plain and unadorned. She placed her hand on the lid and was about to open it when something made her stop.  
She wondered how difficult it would be to place a trap in such a box. If she were setting the trap herself, it would be easy for her to etch a rune inside of it. She could cause any number of things to happen upon the box’s opening; not the least of which might involve poisoning the opener. Of course, a rune could never poison someone directly, but it could cause a reaction to take place within the contents of the box. From what she knew, the assassin's guild had very little use, or tolerance, for most types of magic, but that didn't mean that someone working within the organization wouldn't know how to use it. On the opposite end of the spectrum, a mechanism or exotic creature placed into the box could be equally as lethal.  
“You’re being paranoid,” she told herself with a bit of disdain. Even so, she couldn't bring herself to open the box.   
She stared at it for a moment longer before crossing her arms, “All right, let's compromise,” she said aloud as she stood.  
She moved toward the wall where one of her bows hung. It was a plain looking longbow, the kind that was commonly used for hunting. Dayala kept very little of her incriminating equipment at home, for many reasons, and only boarded with that which could be easily explained if she was ever forced into a confrontation with the authorities. She took down the bow, which was unstrung and looked in its current state more like a fishing pole than a weapon. She stepped to the side of the box and crouched, reaching out with the long length of finely carved wood. She felt ridiculous for being so careful, but she'd survived as long as she had by being overly cautious and even more distrusting of anyone she came into contact with. She figured that if the box really was trapped, she would be relatively safe from it at such a distance, or at the very least she'd be able to react to it quickly. Taking a deep breath, she flipped up the lid and watched the box with a focused anticipation.  
She halfway expected to see some sort of dart shoot out of the mysterious coffer or a small, highly venomous snake slithering out, but nothing happened.  
She blinked but held her ground, keeping her attention rapt on the box.  
Still nothing.  
Several tense seconds went by before Dayala began to laugh. She stood and looked into the box, seeing the faint glimmer of coins inside of it. She continued to chuckle as she crouched and took up the box. She would have felt less foolish if something malicious had emerged from the boring looking container, and yet, even as she thought it, she was already carrying it toward the table to examine it for poison. 

Soon, Dayala exhausted every possibility she could think of in regards to the money being able to kill her and instead counted it. Every bit of it was there, down to the very last coin promised. She counted it several times over just to be sure before settling back in her chair and sighing. She stared at it for a long time, thinking of everything she would have to do to make it secure. It was indeed more money than she'd ever received for a job, roughly the equivalent of the average layman's income for an entire year, untaxed. The idea of receiving such an amount all at once sounded wonderful, but the reality of actually dealing with it was sobering. She couldn't simply leave it in the ground. The chances of her being robbed were small; it was generally understood by most in the neighborhood that she and many others who lived in the vicinity pursued questionable careers and were not people to be trifled with. Still, she hadn't put it there herself, and the guild had proven how unsecure her home was from anyone who knew what they were doing. She had no legitimate citizenship, so opening a bank account and depositing the money was out of the question. Besides, even if she did, most banks would never allow it if they discovered that she was a halfer.  
She decided what to do with it after a time, but her decision was tentative. She kept several of the coins out and replaced the rest in the box before burying it once more and placing the floor board over it. She replaced her bed then,undressed and blew out the candles before crawling beneath the blanket. Even though the money wasn't easily accessible, she fretted over it immediately as she closed her eyes. She could almost feel the weight of it below her and she sighed as she tried to adjust herself.   
In the end, Dayala slept very little that night.

Several weeks passed as Dayala kept her head down. Regardless of the amount of money any job had ever paid, she never took too many consecutive jobs; if too many people were killed all within the same time frame then suspicion would be more easily aroused. On some occasions, she'd heard snippets of conversation regarding a hit that she'd made herself, and even more seldom, she'd seen posters offering rewards for information regarding an investigation. Most days however, she heard nothing of the men she'd killed or any real talk of vengeance or justice being sought on their behalf. Dead was dead, after all, and most of her clients had been plenty despised by those around them to warrant being forgotten.   
The money she'd been paid for her most recent, and oddly non-lethal job had been dealt with in a tedious yet secure manner which largely consisted of her spending a great deal of it on new equipment. It had been a grueling mental battle, but In the end she had to admit to herself that she had no real need or reason to hoard large amounts of money. There was a fine line between survival and comfortable living, but she'd never really been comfortable in her adult life and the amount of money she'd been given was hardly enough to flat out buy a piece of her own property. So the halfling assassin was forced to consider her current position and come to a conclusion about what she really wanted in life. The only solid decision she could come to was that she did want a house, but she didn't want to live in Lattia forever. She preferred the idea of living in a wooded country, but she'd tried that before and it came with its own set of problems. It was dangerous for a person to live alone in a rural place, for a woman or otherwise. The fact that she was considered beautiful in passing did nothing to keep her safe, and she'd already had run ins with country folk in the past because of it. She had no love for the city, and disliked large groups of people, but in the end she'd made the decision to move. She disliked the place she lived but she needed civilization to find success in her current occupation; The irony wasn’t lost on her, and she accepted it with a quiet yet distantly bitter fortitude every time she woke up to a new day.  
She was musing about all of this on her way to the library when she felt suddenly wary. She paused for a moment, feeling like she was being followed. It was late afternoon and a few people were about on the streets; most of whom were rushing to get home after a full day of work. She fought the urge to look behind her and kept walking a moment later, determined to keep her cool. 

Several moments later, she arrived at her destination and entered the underground building, heading straight to her favorite floor. She still felt like she was being followed, but there would be relative safety in such a public place, and no one would be able to sneak up on her if she sat at her usual place.   
She found the place empty, as it usually was, and took a seat. She hadn't bothered choosing a book on the way, but there was the ever present pile of discarded reading material piled atop one of the nearby tables. She grabbed one of the texts and began to flip through it, though the words written there were lost to her darting eyes. She looked toward the way she’d come but saw nothing, and as she was about to turn her head she heard a low voice beside her.  
“Don't worry yourself so much, it’s only me.”  
It had been weeks since she'd seen the man, but she recognized his voice immediately. It was her contact from the assassin's guild.   
“What do you want?” She asked as she turned to see the man sitting at the opposite end of the table. He hadn't been there a moment prior, but Dayala was hardly surprised to see him. A man who made his living in such a way would have to excel at keeping his presence concealed, but Dayala was slightly miffed at her inability to notice anything other than the feeling of him following her.  
“Nice to see you too,” he answered with a small smile as he leaned forward and took one of the books from the stack. “This where you spend your afternoons? In this dusty old place?”  
Dayala took a deep breath and sat back, “That’s none of your concern. I don’t appreciate being tailed around all day, so tell me what you want before I walk away.”  
“Tsk, you’re quite the jumpy sort, aren’t you,” the man said as he opened the book and began sifting through it. He chuckled, “A guide to growing seasonal vegetables: how quaint.” He closed the book and set it down gently, “I have another business proposition for you… if you would like to talk here. I daresay this location might be uncomfortable for you, though, given your fondness for it.”  
Dayala blinked, slightly annoyed, “No, this is fine. I’m listening.” Her curiosity was piqued, but she was wary. She felt as if the guild thought it owned her already, but she might be the only one who hadn’t realized it yet.  
“All business all the time, that’s what I like about you, Miss asp.” He leaned forward slightly, “Did you enjoy your pay from the last job?”  
Dayala’s eyes narrowed, “I suppose I did… why do you ask?”  
“Well… how would you like to make ten times the amount?”  
Dayala’s eyes widened as she was unable to maintain her poker face, “What?”  
The man grinned, “You did hear me correctly, love. Interested?”  
Dayala took a deep breath as her mind began to race. Such an amount of money would finally give her the means to move from Lattia and buy a plot of land somewhere on the outskirts of the country. She could build a small, secure home for herself and live in relative peace away from most civilization. The impossible dream seemed to materialize in front of her as a staggering, irresistible temptation, and the words were out of her mouth before she’d finished thinking it through, “I’m listening.”

-One month later-

Thunder boomed angrily overhead as Dayala jostled with the cart. The cart itself was rickety and rotted in some places, and it creaked in protest with every muddy foot it managed to gain against the miry path. The assassin stared at the two deep ruts that the wheels had made in the muck as she felt herself being pulled ever backwards. It was so dark that she could scarcely see any reasonable distance in the direction she'd traveled from, but every few seconds a fresh scar of lightning would tear through the sky and illuminate the path.  
“We're getting close!” The driver hollered from behind her. “Town's naught but a mile from this point!”  
Dayala nodded once, as if the driver could see her. She didn't know his name and he hadn't asked for hers. A coin was enough to gain the ride and she appreciated the man's willingness to take her where she needed to go, even though he was headed there anyhow. Anthere was the town they were headed to, supposedly the last mark of civilization before the lands of the Sketton began to unfurl towards the far north. She'd never been there herself, but she couldn't imagine anyone of importance lived there. Upon learning of it several days prior, Dayala had gathered that it was a place so far removed from anything of political importance that it was largely ignored, though it was technically under the province of the new council. Dayala chuckled beneath her thick cowl, slightly entertained at the thought of the council sending an emissary to such a place. Everyone knew that the outland villages and cities would be the first to go if another country wide war broke out, and the council would do little to nothing to save them. Not that it mattered to her: she would be treated the same anywhere she went.

Sometime later, the halfling assassin found an inn and shuffled inside, not even bothering to read the name of the place. She’d glanced around at what little of the town she could see as she passed through: it looked as unimpressive as she’d thought it would. It was difficult to gauge in the darkness, but it seemed likely that only several thousand people lived there, too small a number to hide anywhere for very long.   
She swept the room with her eyes as she walked in. A few dozen men and a handful of women sat here and there eating and talking. A few of them glanced up at her and some stared at her for just a moment longer than she would have liked before they resumed whatever it was they were doing. She desperately wanted to keep her heavy cloak on; the cowl and mantle of it hid her face and her body in a way that made her feel more comfortable. The traveling garment was completely soaked through however, and she knew that keeping it on would likely draw more attention.   
Taking a deep breath, she loosed the knot that held it between her shoulders and hung it on the nearby rack. She wore her hair down in the usual way, tightly styled against the side of her face and pinned back low, covering her ears and most of her side profile.  
She went straight to the bar and sat slowly, shivering a bit from the sudden change in temperature. She'd been traveling in the rain for so long that she'd almost forgotten what it felt like to be warm and dry. She rubbed her hands together in an attempt to quell the sudden chill as a man approached her from behind the bar.   
“Evening,” the man spoke cordially enough. He looked to be middle aged and had the even expression of a man who'd long accepted his lot in life, “You look like you could use a warm beverage. Hot mead perhaps?”  
She nodded, “Yes, thank you.”  
The man walked away and returned a moment later, setting down a steaming pewter mug in front of her, “Food?” He asked her, his inflection somewhere between a question and a statement.  
“Yes, anything hot; stew if you have it,” she replied tiredly, feeling suddenly exhausted from the trek.  
The man nodded and left once more, leaving Dayala to quietly survey her surrounding more closely. A few things struck her as odd about the place: clay and timber walls for one as opposed to brick and mortar. She reminded herself that people used what they had given their location, but the architecture itself was also different. Her thoughts turned suddenly as she turned her head slightly towards a group of men playing cards in the corner. They did nothing to hide the fact that they were staring at her, and she grunted lowly as she turned back toward the bar.  
For all her beauty, Dayala never once considered herself beautiful. If anything, she found her decidedly elven features to be a nuisance. No matter what she was wearing, every time she entered such a place strangers would stare. She supposed that it probably had less to do with her face than her body, and she chuckled into her cup of mead as she sipped it carefully. They'd probably take me if I had the face of a hag, She thought as she saw the innkeeper approach with a few bowls.   
“Stew’s pretty good today, the bread’s a little stale though,” he said as he set them down on front of her. “Fresh bread coming tomorrow if you're staying the night.”  
Dayala almost laughed. Where else am I going to go?, “I plan to.” She responded evenly as she reached into her tunic. She produced a coin and set it on the bar, “This enough?”  
The innkeeper considered the coin for a moment, “Flatters, huh?”  
Dayala blinked as a small prick of agitation ran through her, “Are they no good here?”  
“No, they're fine, just haven't seen one in awhile. Round here, most people just melt them down into pure: separate the silver from the gold. I don't have any change to give you in the same form, but…”  
“Keep it,” Dayala said dryly with the thinnest of smiles. “Assuming you have a room for me.”  
The man laughed, “Much obliged. Nice bit of humor there: I'm sure you can have any room you like, they’re all unoccupied at the moment.”  
Dayala nodded. There was something about the man that she liked, “Slow season?”  
The innkeeper nodded as he pinched up the coin and dropped it into his apron, “Yar. It gets busier in the summer, when the hunting's better, but no one wants to muck around in this shite,” he said, nodding towards the door.  
Dayala tasted the stew and was pleasantly surprised by how palatable it was, “Town like this: I'll bet there's not much privacy.”  
“Nope. Not much money either,” the innkeeper chuckled and leaned forward, lowering his voice slightly, “We don't get many travelers this time of year, really, that implies that they're travelling somewhere. There's nothing but the Sketton north of here… And you don't look like you're here to hunt.” He paused, “I’d like to help you, but I'll leave you to your meal for now. If you want to sit around for a spell, I'll bring you another drink and we can talk.”  
Dayala nodded once, unsure of the man's intentions but willing to hear him out. She had limited information to go on and the guild hadn't given her much more than she'd gotten from Aaron. She decided to trust her instincts and proceeded to eat her meal, stale bread and all. 

The inn died down a little more than an hour later and nearly everyone occupying it went home for the night. The innkeeper eventually made his way over to Dayala and set another drink in front of her, some sort of fruit wine, before settling down behind the bar and heaving a sigh, “Got the wet outta you yet?”  
“Nearly.” Dayala sniffed the glass out of habit before taking a sip of the drink, “So what did you want to talk with me about?”  
The innkeeper scratched his head, “Well, as I'm sure you guessed, I own this fair establishment. Campen’s the name. There's not many people who live here that don't come to my place at some point or another, mostly because I keep good drink supplied. If you're looking for something, or someone, I may be able to shorten your search.”  
Dayala pondered the man's words for a moment before replying, “How do you know I'm not just passing through?”  
Campen smiled, “Passing through to where? No, if you're not a hunter, then you're here for something else, and there's not many something else's past this point...unless you're looking for an exotic way to die. Now, I don't even want to know your name or why you're here, but I would like to make your life easier by maybe telling you where to start.”  
She couldn't argue with the man and she had neither the energy nor the inclination to make an excuse, “Fine. How much will you charge me for your services?”  
“Nothing. You already gave me an entire flatter; it's not the heaviest coin I've ever received but it's a good bit.”  
She gave the man a careful smile, “All right, if there's no extra charge then why help me at all?”  
Campen shrugged, “You're pretty and I like your attitude. Any woman who can travel this far north alone must be strong, and I like strong people.”  
Dayala grunted a laugh. She found the statement odd, but she didn't think the innkeeper was lying. She would still have to be careful about what she asked, but it was the best opportunity she had at the moment, “Very well, I'll accept your compliment.” She took a deep breath and asked slowly, “Do you know of anyone who lives out in the Sketton?”  
Campen frowned, “Hm… not personally. Most of the territory is pretty inhospitable to anything that walks on two legs, but I've heard stories about crazy homesteaders who have attempted to make a place there.”  
Before Dayala had left Lattia, she'd read as much as she could about the Sketton. She had an idea about the dangers, but she wanted to hear about it from someone who was closer to them, “Why is it so dangerous?”  
Campen shrugged once more, “Many reasons, but mostly the risk of starvation. There's not many edible fruits and vegetables that grow there, so foraging is difficult. Not only that, but nearly every creature that lives there is carnivorous to some degree, and most have hides that are so thick that spears and arrows are ineffective. You can climb a tree to avoid most of them, notice I say most, but a person can’t hide forever. So a person is likely to starve in a tree while hunkering or become the salvation of some other starving creature,” he chuckled.   
Dayala was already having second thoughts about heading to such a place, and the conversation wasn't encouraging her any, “I see,” she said with a slight frown.  
“I can't help you directly, but I think I know someone who can,” he said suddenly as he pawed his chin. “There's a gnome that lives way out on the outskirts of town: his name is Crick. Hell if that's his real name, but that's what he goes by. Anyway, he's a trapper and he ventures further north than anyone else around here. Every few months, he goes deeper into the Sketton for some reason or another and he always manages to come back out alive. If anyone has answers for you, he does.”  
Dayala tried not to feel too excited, but the information rekindled her hope of ever reaching her goal, “Would he speak to me? Is he very difficult to work with?”  
Campen laughed, “I don't know, I've never worked with him. He comes in every so often and we talk; mostly about the things he's managed to catch despite his small stature. I'm sure he would speak to you, assuming you have something to offer him. You know gnomes, always in it for the profit. I don't care to know how many flatters you've got with you, it’s none of my business, but I'm sure he would be swayed to share something with you if you had one or two to spare.”  
Contrary to his statement, Dayala actually knew very little about gnomes. The non-human races mostly congregated and kept to themselves, and the only real understanding she had of any of them was the dwarves. The gnomes were smaller in stature and far less numerous than the dwarves, and most of them lived far away from any of the places that Dayala had lived. Lattia was a capital city that had little tolerance for non-human races, so it was no wonder that she hadn't seen any gnomes in years.  
“That's wonderful information...I really appreciate it,” she smiled honestly. “Where does he live?”  
Campen pointed past her head, “Dead North from here, around a bit when you hit the small well in the center of town,” he gestured with his hands. “Past the last building on the street, you'll see a wide open grassland and a dilapidated old windmill. Walk to the windmill and he's a mile north of it. His cottage is built entirely from stones; it's the only building around, you can't miss it.”  
Dayala nodded, “Do you know why he lives so far from town?”  
“Likes his privacy I suppose. He may not even be home, but I’d bet with all this rain you'll find him there sure enough.”  
Dayala took another sip of her drink before pushing it away, “Thanks again. I'd better turn in for the night, I'm exhausted.”  
The innkeeper took her glass and nodded, “Take whichever room you like, they all lock from the inside, so you don't need no key and no one gets in unless you want em’ to.”  
Dayala gave the man one more cursory nod before heading upstairs.  
As she was ascending, the innkeeper looked up at her and said suddenly, “I draw water early in the morning; I’ll draw extra so you can have a bath. It’s likely to be the last one you’ll have for awhile yet.”  
She thought about telling him not to bother, but it had been weeks already since she’d properly bathed and the idea of a hot water bath was too enticing for her to pass up, “Thanks, I’d appreciate that.”

It was nearly eight o’clock when Dayala finally headed out the following morning. Campen had been good on his word and she’d had both the bath and the fresh bread. Both seemed to be particularly satisfying, likely because she believed what he’d said to be all too true. She’d have to prepare herself mentally for heading into such a wild country. She was a fine hunter and she felt comfortable sleeping in the forest amongst trees, but she’d never experienced such an unforgiving environment as what had been described to her so far.  
She followed Campen’s directions to the letter and found the gnome’s cottage easily enough. It was an old, beat up looking building that seemed obviously shorter than the average huts and cottages she’d seen in town. It was sturdy however, and it didn’t look like it was going to fall over any time soon. She strode right up to the door and did nothing to mask her presence: the last thing she wanted was to come across as sneaky or hostile. She rapped on the door three times, trying not to be overly loud about it before she stood and waited. A long moment went by and she was about to knock again when she heard a low commotion inside.  
“Who is it and what do you want?” She heard an irritated, somewhat high pitched voice from behind the door.  
Dayala frowned slightly, glad at least that the fellow seemed to be home, “I’m a traveler and I’m looking for Crick… I was told that he could possibly help me.”  
Another long moment passed before she heard the voice speak again, “And who sent you?”  
“A man by the name of Campen. He runs the inn down by the…”  
The door opened abruptly, causing her to take a step back.   
“I know him,” a small looking man peeked his head up toward her, sounding a bit irate. His features looked almost human, but there was something about his nose and his high cheek bones that seemed just a bit too sharp to mistake him for one, “What's he doing, sending strangers to me?” the gnome crossed his arms. “Bothersome.” He said flatly, as if the word warranted its own sentence. He sighed and looked Dayala over briefly, openly assessing her, “What's your business then? Hunter? Game season’s over; this int the right time for…”  
“I'm not here to hunt,” Dayala interjected quietly. From what she'd gathered about the man already, she was willing to wager that bluntness would get her farther than tact.  
“Oh?” The gnome questioned. “Int nothing else here but mud. What is it then? Tell me quick before I lose my patience.”  
“Fine: I need to get to the Sketton,” she replied quickly with the slightest edge in her tone. She continued before he could speak again, “I am a hunter, but I'm not here to hunt. I'm looking for some information and possibly a guide.”  
“A guide?” Crick wrinkled his nose, “I int one, nor is any around here. I trap, hunt at times, but I work alone. I can’t help you,” he waved his hand dismissively before turning away from her.   
“I think you can if you’d just hear me out,” she said quickly, “I can pay you, I'm not expecting this information for free. Campen told me that you go into the Sketton at times...I at least need to know more about it.”  
The gnome wheeled back to her, a look of obvious irritation in his features, “Look Missy, you don’t want to go to the Sketton, men three times your size and better equipped have met doom. You won’t survive a day; now give up your fool’s errand and leave me alone!”  
Dayala grimaced. The long month’s journey there had felt like a small eternity and this wasn't the first time she'd been openly belittled for some reason or another. Her nerves were grated and her patience was nearly spent, but the small man in front of her was her single best hope for getting where she needed to go. She took a deep breath and steeled herself, “I'm going there whether you help me out not; no one's going to hold you responsible if I never return. I made the journey this far alone and I'll continue alone, all I'm asking for is a bit of conversation about your experiences. You can't spare a minute…” she dug into her tunic and produced a flatter, “For one of these?”  
The gnome’s eyes narrowed when he saw the coin, “So you’ve got coin… anyone with coin can go near anywhere they want. But alone?” He looked her over again, “You fancy yourself a shooter? Pretty dab handed with that are you?”  
“Yes,” Dayala answered honestly. She had no reason to hide her skill, not with the gnome anyhow.  
The gnome didn't look convinced, “Them toy arrows’ll get ya killed. The crossbow is the only likely good ranged weapon against the creatures in the Sketton.” He crossed his arms, “So you dragged your arse all the way here with your trusty branch and your measly arrows, but I tell you, Missy, int gonna save yer hide from them…”  
“Give me a target,” She interjected with exasperation. Clearly the conversation was going nowhere, so she thought that perhaps a demonstration would be more convincing.  
Crick blinked, “What for? Think you that ye can impress me?”  
She nodded once, “Perhaps,” she said as she swung the bow around her shoulder. Deftly, she crossed her foot over the lower limb and strung it in a single movement before reaching for her quiver. She flipped over the protective leather flap that covered her arrows and picked one: a flyer, as she called them. It was a thin, slightly spindled arrow that was fletched high on the shaft and had a small, razor fine point on its end.   
The gnome sighed, “You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”  
She shrugged as she nocked the arrow absently, “Not until you've judged my skill. If I hit the target you point out to me, will you at least speak with me for a spell?”  
“Gah, fine. If you miss, will you leave me the hells alone?”  
“Yes, I will.”  
He rolled his gaze over the terrain for a moment before his eyes settled on a target several hundred feet away. He pointed disinterestedly, “If you can hit that bucket over yon, then…”  
Dayala raised her bow passively, drew and loosed within a two second time span. The arrow tinked into the bucket in question with an almost comedic lack of sound. The bucket itself hung from a decrepit looking rope looped over a thin wooden stand and pulley. Dayala assumed that it serviced a shallow well, but she didn't ruminate about it. It occurred to her that the gnome could have picked a different target and saved himself the trouble of having to mend his bucket, but the target was an easy one and she didn't feel like wasting any more time.   
The gnome, who had barely managed to notice that his called upon target had been had, gave her a cold, hard look, “No lucky shot…” he muttered in irritation. “You’re a merry one then, int you?”  
She was already unstringing her bow, “Merry? I'm not sure I understand.”  
“Means you can shoot...If nothing else,” he said as he crossed his arms. It was clear that he was none too pleased at losing his bet, but he stepped away from her and beckoned, “Deal’s a deal. Get your arse in, we’ve business to discuss.”

Nearly a full day later, Dayala found herself striding beside the gnome towards the Sketton. After a long chat, she was somewhat surprised to hear that he had no interest in her money, but rather, her services. It seemed that he'd been having a difficult time with a certain creature who had been getting to his traps before he did. Thusly, Crick was losing a good part of his game and might very well be driven out of business if the problem persisted. He seemed convinced that it was a larger creature that had wandered too far south from the Sketton, but Dayala was hoping to get a look at the signs herself. She knew that he was bound to know more about the native creatures than herself, but she was an experienced hunter and she might be able to add some insight.  
They traveled quickly for several hours, neither of them speaking much. The gnome, like her, was obviously interested in results above all else. She could tell immediately that he was in his element, and she had no doubt that he could handle himself if something went awry.   
It was early in the afternoon when the terrain began to change. The grassy fields began turning to patchy, high mountain terrain. Copses of trees could be seen in the distance, and they seemed to be growing larger in size as they went. Crick explained to her briefly that the trees seemed to suck all of the life out of the soil, and so finding greenery on the forest floor to forage was difficult. Dayala marveled at the trees from a distance; it seemed that everything she'd read about their impressive height was true, though Crick insisted that the ones they were approaching were the smallest of them.   
A short time after that, they came upon a large hill, which Crick grumbled about having to climb. Despite his grumbling, however, he went about the task immediately, and Dayala followed suite. Once they'd ascended it, the terrain flattened out once more and for the first time the halfling assassin got a look at the outskirts of the Sketton. She paused to sweep her gaze over it and thought about how long it had taken her to journey there.  
“Looks close, I know,” the gnome commented beside her, his stature barely coming up to her waist. “Still a full day away, though there int no mistaking which way to go...It’s getting out that's rough.”  
Dayala surveyed the trees and nodded, “How many times have you actually gone there?”  
The gnome scratched his head and adjusted his pack, “Many. Though, I didn’t go for no reason.” He pointed east of the foreboding forest, “There's a marshland five miles or so that way. My first trap is there.”  
“Let’s be going then,” she moved forward.   
“Aye, let’s.”

The marshland was there, just as the gnome had said it would be. The sky was beginning to darken with clouds as they arrived at its fringes, and Crick looked up at the sky with a scowl, “Hope you’re not afraid of water.”  
Dayala smiled humorlessly, “No, I daresay I wouldn’t have made it this far if I was.” She surveyed the area pursed her lips. It was odd to see such a place so isolated from a large body of water, but the marsh was right in the middle of a deep valley. Crick had explained to her that he'd had good luck trapping around the marsh because of how often large animals came to drink. It had its downsides, of course, the insects for one. Dayala swatted around her face absently as she took in the tall grasses and the semi-stagnant smell of thick mud, “Is there quicksand around these parts?”  
“Aye. But don’t worry, follow me and you'll be fine,” the gnome said as he took the lead. “One thing: I say stop, we stop. Got it?”  
“Not a problem,” she replied as she followed him. She wasn't too proud to follow the trapper and even take orders from him, especially if it meant avoiding a torturous demise.

Sometime later, they came upon the first of the gnome’s traps. The scene was gruesome at best, and Dayala frowned slightly as she surveyed it. it was clear to see that the trap had been sprung, but the animal that it had captured, or what was left of it, was strewn about the area. The trap itself had been battered to pieces and was little more than a pile of splintered sticks and rope.  
Crick sighed heavily when they came closer and immediately began to salvage the moving parts from the broken trap, “It's gotta be a Grollock: only beast around here that's strong enough to do this.”  
Dayala examined the remains of the animal and took note of how large the creature's teeth and claws must have been, “Are they native to this area?”  
“Not really. Every now and again they wander down from the Sketton and roam to this area for game. My traps are just a peachy boxed lunch as far as the beast is concerned,” the gnome scowled. “If we can kill it, it might make up for the damage it's done; at the very least I might break even.”  
The assassin nodded, “the tracks are at least a day old, as is the carcass.”  
Crick sighed once more and gave his temporary companion a single nod, “Aye. It's headed north, toward the rest of my traps.”  
She rose from the gruesome scene, “Let's get moving, then; lead the way.”

Several hours later, Dayala found herself stopping in front of a small yet thickly wooded copse. They'd found two more broken traps on the way and each scene had been similarly violent, though the third was the freshest. Ultimately, the two had been able to track the beast to the copse where Crick was sure it must be.   
“The trail does end here,” She agreed as she looked into the somewhat shrouded clustering of trees. It was now late afternoon and the sky was beginning to darken once more. She glanced upward at the pregnant looking clouds and frowned, “What's the plan?”  
Crick noticed her concern, “We int gonna try and kill it here and now, the odds would not be in our favor. I've a shelter not far from here, we can get some rest, make a plan, then come back in the morning.”  
“Will the beast still be here when we return?” She asked with a hint of doubt in her tone.  
“I think it will. They sleep for nearly a day between large meals and the rain’ll keep it from wandering out for no reason. Sides’, if we don’t get in out of the storm that’s coming it’ll be the death of us.”  
She nodded, “As usual, I’ll follow your lead,” she said as she glanced into the darkened trees once more.

The shelter which the gnome had spoken of was indeed close, but by the time they arrived the storm was well underway. Although deep dusk was still a ways off, the setting sun was heavily obscured by the stor. In the darkness, Dayala could barely make out the shape of a hut built into the side of a steep hill. There seemed to be several other structures around it, but she didn’t bother straining her eyes through the sheets of rain to identify them. The gnome approached the hut and threw a latch before swinging the door outward and shuffling inside. She followed closely behind him and shut the door securely behind her.  
The room was dark, naturally, and the assassin stood beside the door as she heard the gnome bustling around.  
“I’ll get a fire going,” He said as she saw the small tink of a fire starting stone flash in the middle of the room. “There’s a rack beside the door if you want to get your cloak off at least.”  
She pursed her lips and felt around the wall beside the door. She found the rack easily enough and went about the task of removing her soggy traveling cloak. A few moments later, she saw a small glow rise up from the side of her vision and blinked as her eyes adjusted to the ever growing light.  
“Ah, there we are,” the gnome said with quiet satisfaction as he added tinder to the newly born fire. “I’ll get some sup on if you want to make yourself comfortable; we’re going to be here for awhile.”  
She nodded as she began to remove her equipment. She checked her pack and all of her gear before leaning them against the wall beneath the rack. She glanced around as the amount of light in the room grew and noticed immediately how well built the hut was. When the gnome had spoken of a shelter, she’d pictured little more than a wooden covering and a shallow fire pit, but the crude hut was sturdy and impressively leak free.  
“Twice a year I re-mud the walls and the roof,” the gnome said with a bit of pride, “Gotta keep the water out else the place’ll rot to hell. It took a lot of work to build the chimney; it leaks sometimes when wind pushes the rain at a slant, but mostly it works. I move between the Sketton and the my home often enough to where I felt building this sort of place was warranted.”  
“I’m impressed,” she said genuinely.  
He chuckled, “Thanks, but it’s still ugly.” He snorted as he began to work at the ties on his tunic, “Best to get out of those wet clothes afore you get the wheezes.”  
She frowned slightly. He was right of course, sleeping in her wet clothing would almost guarantee her a slight pneumonia, at the very least. In her current position, she couldn’t afford to get sick, but it had been a very long time since she’d disrobed in front anyone, let alone a virtual stranger.  
Crick seemed to sense her discomfort and laughed lowly as he pulled off his tunic, “I int gonna ogle you, lass, you int my type. I prefer my women shorter and bigger in the chest.”  
His comment threw her off guard and she laughed, “Noted,” she said as she began to untie her own tunic. She realized how ridiculous she was being, but still she couldn’t help feeling a bit self conscious as she pulled the wet shirt from over her head.

A short time later the two sat across from each other beside the fire with small wooden bowls in hand. They looked as odd a pair as one could find anywhere, both of them nearly naked save for the scarcest of undergarments. Their clothing was laid out beside the fire on a makeshift rack, and it hadn’t taken Dayala very long to become comfortable with the situation. As the gnome had promised, he hadn’t so much as glanced at her when she’d undressed, and currently he seemed more interested in the stew in front of him than all the women in the world.  
“It’s not bad,” She spoke after a while, letting the taste of the crude dinner linger in her mouth.  
“It needs coriander, but aye, it’s passable,” the gnome said as he took another bite. “How you faring?”  
She took a deep breath, “Fine. I’ve never seen so much rain in my life, though. Is it always like this?”  
He shook his head and chuckled, “Nay, only in the fall. You picked the perfect time of year to visit.”  
She couldn’t help but smirk, “I see… lucky me.”  
They finished the stew in comfortable silence. Dayala enjoyed the company of a fellow hunter, even if the gnome didn’t claim the title. He offered her a crust of bread from his pack which she took gratefully, and she wondered when the man had made the decision to live such a rural life. Of course, he had been courteous enough not to ask any questions about her, so she wasn’t about to go prying into his life simply to sate her curiosity.  
“So, ready to talk about our plan to take care of the Grollock?” He asked casually as he went about the task of mopping up the last of his stew with his portion of bread.  
“I am,” she answered evenly, lending her attention to the small man with an equal air of calmness.  
“Great. Now... “ he stuffed the bread into his mouth and chewed it while he began to draw on the ground beside the fire. “What’s the biggest thing you ever took down?”  
“Crampitch,” she answered quickly, remembering the short struggle she’d had with the lizard-like winged creature. By accident she’d stumbled upon it’s nest while hunting and it had attacked her. She’d tried to run from it, but it had pursued her, so in the end she had to put it down. She remembered feeling terrible about it afterwards, since she had no real use for the creature’s carcass or its meat, and she’d been forced to leave the creature’s eggs behind to die as well.  
He blinked, “Hm. Hard fight?”  
She shrugged, “Not really. It was a long time ago. I clipped its wings a few times while it tried to make a dive for me, then I got it in the throat.”  
He nodded, “I imagine a thing in air might be harder to shoot than something on the ground: impressive.”  
She smiled, “That time it was luck.”  
He considered her for a moment before continuing, “Aye. So, anywho, a Grollock is likely several time heavier than your Crampitch, and a sight meaner. They int too smart, but they make up for it with raw strength. When they git to thrashing, it’s dangerous to approach them directly, and when they charge they charge to kill. Bloody fast going forward, but they int too strong on the sideways movements: like a bear. Git me?”  
She nodded, “Yeah. Are they overly aggressive?”  
“Sometimes. They get the taste of something and they want to gorge on it till they’ve had their fill. My traps are a good example. Int no deer deep in the Sketton, so one day a Grollock like ours gets lucky and finds one far out on the edge for dinner. He likes it, so he goes out for more, then he goes further and further out till he’s lost his way. I think that’s what we got here. So we’re gonna find him and get him home, in pieces of course.”  
“Pieces? What are we going to do, quarter him up and smoke him? Who’s going to want that meat?” She asked, doing little to hide her incredulity.  
He went quiet for a moment before answering her, “No one in Anthere. No, I bring it to the Sketton… there’s a village there, a city really. Not many out of the forest know of it… and the people who live there prefer to keep it that way,” he gave her a narrow look.  
Dayala felt a dull rush of excitement rise up within her, “I see. Different folks must live there, I’d imagine.”  
He laughed, “Different is a nice way to describe them. They’re wild, mostly. That’s not to say they’re uncivilized, but they int got no real government. I think they started as a group of fleeing criminals or maybe the remnants of a war torn village, but who knows how long ago that was. They int so many in number, maybe a few hundred. Many of them are second or even third generation, though I think some of em may be people who just somehow stumbled in. ”  
“Do they speak our language?”  
He nodded, “Aye, well as any, but mostly they do their talking with spears and bows. I trade with em’ a few times a year. I just left em a month or so ago, actually. Maybe you didn’t see it when we came in, but I got a nice size smoking hut right here. The Skettonites, as I’ve taken fondly to calling them, can’t cook for shite. I think it has something to do with the fact that they can’t grow spices, or they int got the seeds. They got no salt either. Needless to say, they like my jerky… a lot. When I first visited them, I had to convince them not to chop my head off and I offered them fir and traps. They liked my traps, but it almost wasn’t enough to save my life. One of the buggers got into my bag and tasted my jerky; by the face he made I thought he was making love to a goddess,” Crick laughed, “I int never seen nobody look so sappy eyed over a piece of meat! So I promised them that if they wanted to establish a trading pattern with me I’d bring em heaps and heaps of seasoned jerky. If we take that Grollock down, I might be able to make up for the loss it’s created by trading it back out. Ironic, int it?”  
“A bit,” Dayala smiled lightly. “They say what goes around comes around.”  
“Aye, and now it’s my turn,” Crick chuckled as he completed his drawing. “But, let’s not count the chickies before they hatch: on to the matter at hand.” He Gestured to the drawing, “We can’t go in after it, it’s too dangerous in such a close space. Once those creatures start rocking and throwing their weight around, all it takes is one wrong move and smacko, you get knocked into a tree and you’re done.” The gnome slapped his fist into his palm to emphasis his point. “A fight out in the open is to our advantage. I’ll have some traps on hand and we should have plenty of time for me to dig them in. All we need to worry about is how to draw the beast of the trees.” He sighed, “So there’s more hunting to be done. The beast wants venison, so we’ll need...”  
Dayala held her hand up suddenly as an idea sprang into her head, “Hang on. Do you think it would be possible for me to draw the beast out on my own?”  
He frowned, “I told ya, too risky.”  
She leaned forward slightly, “I’m not going to try and kill it, I’m just going to draw it out. If I can shoot it from far enough of a distance, I’ll be able to run away from it.”  
He shook his head, “Maybe, but you won’t be able to get that close; It’ll smell ya before it sees you.”  
The assassin paused before replying, “Where do you get your mud from?”  
“My mud?” The gnome looked confused, “A nearby stream, why?”  
“I can cover myself with mud to mask my smell. I’ve done it before,” she said surely as she stared into the fire.  
Crick frowned deeply, “I dunno, lass.” He gave her a hard look and shook his head, “I’m not doubting your skill with the bow, but… don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re what, twenty and change? I don’t think you fully appreciate how dangerous this situation could turn, and I don’t want your blood on my hands.”  
Dayala met the gnome’s gaze and took a deep breath. His point was fair, of course, and as much as she hated to admit it, she hadn’t given him any real reason to trust her. After a short moment of consideration she decided that she couldn’t afford to waste any more time, “Crick, we’ve been fortunate to track the beast as far as we have, but there’s no guarantee that our luck will hold out. What if we can’t find any deer? If we can’t draw it out in a certain direction, it could exit anywhere out of that copse. We can’t cover even half that area with just the two of us, so we’d be leaving everything to chance. I’m telling you, this is our best option. If I can draw it out and direct it, I can lead it right to whatever trap you want to set. I’m telling you, I can do this,” she said as she raised her hands to her head. She unknotted the headband that she always wore and pulled it away from her head, revealing her pointed ears, “Besides, I have more experience than you think.”  
The gnome glanced up at her and noticed her ears immediately. he winced at her as he crossed his arms, “I see… that explains a lot.” He stared into the fire for a long moment before replying, “I int happy about it, but you’re right. If you feel like you can pull it off, I’ll dig in my trap anywhere you tell me to.”  
The warm air on her ears felt strange and foreign to her as she nodded, “Good, I won’t let you down. Don’t forget that this is as much for me as it is for you.”  
He nodded, “If you help me kill it and bring it back here, I’ll get you to the Skettonites. If the one you’re looking for doesn’t live there, they’ll know where to find him.”  
“Deal,” she said flatly as she replaced the hair band. She'd expected at least a few questions about her nature from the gnome, but he didn't look like he had any for her.  
“You’ll be needing your rest then,” He said a few moments later as he reached for her empty bowl and piled int into his own. “Claim whatever spot you’d like; if yer a heavy sleeper I’ll wake you early enough.”  
She shifted herself beside the fire and exhaled deeply, “True. Thanks for the meal.”  
“Aye,” he muttered as he went about tinkering with something that he’d pulled from a shelf.   
It was clear that the gnome wasn’t in the mood to talk, so Dayala left him to his own devices and closed her eyes. She wasn’t expecting to sleep, but much to her surprise, she felt it come to her easily as she allowed herself to doze off.

She felt it before she heard anything.Her eyes opened quickly and she rose fluidly as her eyes flitted around the inside of the dimly lit hut. She glanced at the low embers that burned in the firepit and guessed that she might have been asleep for three hours, assuming that Crick hadn’t added much more wood to the fire. The gnome was snoring quietly beside the fire pit, adjacent to her, and she strained her eyes to make out the contraption that was sitting beside him. She stood quietly and instinctively made her way to the rack where her equipment hung.   
She paused for a brief moment to listen for any sounds of stirring outside before she strung her bow. The action was so practiced that she was long past needing her vision to perform the task, so the darkness did nothing to deter her. She grabbed her quiver and slung it over her shoulder, being sure to undo the flap that covered her cache of arrows.  
“Crick,” she hissed as she took a step toward the sleeping gnome.  
A few seconds passed before the small man on the ground stirred, “Hm, what?” He asked, sounding plenty confused.  
“There’s something outside,” She whispered as she reached behind her back and drew an arrow.  
The gnome grumbled, “Probably just a bird or some such, go back to sleep.”  
She set the arrow, “No, it’s something else, I don’t know, it feels…” She was unable to finish her sentence as the wall near the door splintered suddenly with a sickening thud.  
Crick was up much faster than the halfling would expected. He wheeled away from the firepit and shouted, “Hells, what’s going on?!”  
Dayala took a step back herself as another powerful blow hit the wall of the hut, “Is it the Grollock?!”  
The gnome was already reaching for his pack, “It must be, Int no creature round here who could…”  
The wall creaked loudly as it was assaulted once more and the two heard a deep, low growl.  
Dayala raised her bow but refrained from drawing. Even in such circumstances, she never shot blind. Too many archers had lost their lives firing too early and losing their advantage; either that or they ended up hitting the wrong target entirely. “Looks like it came to us! Ideas?!”  
Crick tossed a generous handful of wood into the fire pit, “We gotta get the fire back up! That wall won’t hold, its just sticks and twigs! Distract it!”  
Dayala grunted as she stared hard into the darkness. It was difficult to tell if there was even an opening in the heavily mudded wall, and going outside to meet the creature would be a bad idea, since there still wasn’t enough light outside to see. Without thinking, she went to the door quickly and threw it open, taking a quick step back after she’d done so.  
“Are you insane!?” Crick demanded as he knelt beside the fire.  
She didn’t have time to explain her reasoning to him as she saw a large, furry paw move over the door frame. Her first instinct was to bury an arrow into it, but she realized immediately that she’d only aggravate the creature that way. She watched for several seconds as the beast reached into the hut with its massive paw and clawed around. Even in the darkness, she could see that it’s pads were several times larger than her head, and its claws were at least half as long as he arms.  
“They’re scared of fire like most beasts!” Crick bellowed as he blew into the fire to get the embers back up.  
She nodded and turned quickly, lowering her arrow to the fire pit. She thrust the point into the embers and waited several seconds for the shaft to catch a flame. All the while, the Grollock was reaching around through the open door, swiping in all directions in a sweeping motion, allegedly trying to reach whatever prize he thought was inside.  
She drew partially and waited a few seconds for an opening. Not bothering to aim, she timed the shot as best she could and loosed. The air flew dangerously close to the creature’s claw, but found purchase in the ground right in front of the doorway. The arrow was burning fairly well, and a moment later the creature outside the door made another low growl and seemingly retreated several steps.  
“Fire’s taking!” Crick said excitedly as Dayala turned briefly to see a few flames leap upward. “Keep going! I just need a little more time, maybe a minute before I can get a log going!”  
She nodded once. The arrow she’d shot into the ground was burning quickly and it was clear that it wouldn’t last for more than a few seconds. She ran to her pack and snatched it up before retreating back into the middle of the room. Frantically, she threw it down and dug into it, feeling around for a specific bottle.  
The gnome huffed fervently into the fire while poking it in some places, “Outta kindling! Can’t make it go any faster than it’s going now,” he said, this time a little more calmly.  
Dayala found the bottle she was looking for and handed it to him hurriedly as she glanced at the doorway. As she’d thought, the arrow had already burned into nothing and the creature was beginning to reach into the doorway once more, “This’ll make it burn faster,” she said hurriedly as she drew another arrow.  
Crick took it and fumbled with the lid, “What is it?”  
She stared into the doorway, which was a bit easier to see now that the room was slightly more lit, “An absinthe tincture. Sprinkle it all over, but be careful.” She told him quickly as she lit another arrow.  
He grunted in response and she turned away from him once the arrow had taken the flame. The Grollock was swiping more quickly now and was beginning to growl impatiently. As before, she raised her bow and loosed when the time felt right, but this time she was not so fortunate. The arrow caught the beast somewhere up its front leg, just past its paw, and it roared angrily as it retracted slightly. Dayala scowled and shook her head, “What’s taking so long!?”  
The gnome growled, “You’ve got this damn cork in so tight I kin hardly get hold of it!”  
She was about to reply when the Grollock placed its paw on the edge of the doorway and pulled toward itself aggressively. The door frame cracked cacophonously and a portion of the ceiling began to give way beneath it as it lost its support, “Crick, this whole place is coming down if…”   
Crick, who had finally managed to remove the cork, shouted back at her, “Step aside!” He sloshed some of the odd green liquid into the fire before taking a quick step backwards.  
Dayala barely managed to get away from the fire pit as bright hot flames erupted out from it. The Grollock roared in fear as it rescinded its claw once more.  
The fire burned hotly for several seconds before dying down. The alcohol had caused an impressive flare up, but it hadn’t lit the entire stack of wood as much as the assassin had hoped, “This isn’t going to work,” she said desperately. “We can’t take another hit like that, the whole place’ll come crashing down on us; we need to leave!”  
Crick shook his head, “That beast will make short work of us in the dark, we don’t stand a chance!”  
“We don’t stand a chance in here either!” She snapped back at him. At that point, a frontal attack seemed like a better idea than being crushed. She glanced at the fire quickly and reached out to the gnome, “Hand me the bottle!”  
He gave it to her immediately, “What are you going to do?”  
She pressed her lips together grimly, “We’ve got to rush it. I can take out its eyes if I have a clear shot, then what? Tell me how to kill this thing.”  
Crick blinked up at her with a mixture of surprise and amusement, “It’s gotta be on it’s back or on the ground at least. If you can get it’s eyes, I can get it on the ground and worry about ending it, but I’ll need to crank the trap.”  
Dayala nodded as she glanced at the door, “It’s coming in again, how much time do you need?”  
“Just a minute or so!” He said as he knelt beside the contraption he’d been working on earlier that night. It was an odd looking assortment of metal bits and levers that resembled a tulip, but it was easily the size of the man himself. Without hesitation, he knelt beside the trap and began to crank it as quickly as he could. The thick steel limbs that provided energy to the device began to creak and bend outwards as the flower-like trap began to close like a set of petals would.  
Dayala waited till the beast was within the doorway before she sprinkled more of the tincture into the fire. Just as it had before, the fire whooshed upwards with a quick, impressive flare. The Grollock grunted and stepped back as it had before, but this time, it looked much less deterred.  
“I've got it!” Crick exclaimed as he got to his feet and hoisted the trap over his shoulder.   
Dayala glanced at the dwarf and thought briefly about how absurd he looked, but she focused her thoughts quickly, “I'm going to get us out of here; when I start running, follow me.”  
Crick nodded once as he balanced the readied trap.  
The Grollock was already trying to rip open the door when the assassin made her move. The fire was brighter now, and she could vaguely see the snout of the attacking beast past its groping paw. She took several steps forward until the creature's claws were only inches from her face before she hurled the bottle of medicine through the doorway. The bottle crashed over the beast’s face, causing it to bellow angrily. Dayala had hoped that the smell alone would be enough to distract the beast for at least a few seconds as she wheeled around quickly and reached into the fire. She took hold of a good sized stick that was mostly aflame and rushed towards the doorway with it. The Grollock was just advancing into it's previous position when she stepped up to the door and tossed the flaming stick onto the creature’s face.  
The tincture that had caught the creature's snout ignited immediately, causing the heavy animal to snarl loudly as it backed away from the door. “Go!” Dayala blurted as she made her way through the door. She didn't wait to see if the gnome was following her, since every second might count.  
As soon as she left the doorway, she felt the sudden change in temperature. Even as she was reaching for a broad head, she could feel large rain droplets hitting her bare skin and soaking through her quiver. She raised her eyes to the beast, who was now shaking it's head violently in an apparent attempt to quench the fire. She glanced over it within a moment as her fingers slipped the arrow into place. The beast was massive, far larger than she'd envisioned and certainly twice her own height. Even though she could hardly make out it's form, she understood why Crick had insisted against a head on approach. If she misstepped against such an opponent, she would not be given another chance.  
Her hands moved of their own accord as she raised her bow and drew. It would be impossible to aim under the circumstances: the sky was too dark and the creature was moving too quickly. It was because of this that she didn't even try. She let her mind approximate the shot as she made out the shape of the beast’s muzzle. A second later, she loosed.  
Chaos ensued. The beast uttered a disturbingly feral cry as Dayala saw its silhouette charging towards her. Her body seemed to react before her mind did as she dove aside. As she somersaulted away, she felt the enormous force graze past her. The sparsely vegetated area in front of the shelter was muddy, and she nearly slipped as she came up out of her roll, but she managed to keep her balance. Even while she was standing, her hands were moving for another arrow. Having never been one to shoot in the dark, literally or figuratively, she drew and waited till her eyes found the outline of the behemoth. She fired into it, but this time the beast only made a guttural growl as it's shape turned in the night.   
“It's no good: it's skin is too thick! Aim for its legs!” She heard Crick exclaim from somewhere in the darkness.   
Dayala bent her knees as she prepared to jump away from a second charge. She was surprised, however, to find that the dark form was moving in a different direction.   
“Crick!” She shouted as she blinked water away from her eyes. The storm had lessened since they'd arrived at the hut, but not by much. She wasn't sure how the gnome planned on using the trap, but she had no doubt that he wouldn't be able to move very well while towing it on his shoulder. She could only assume that it was charging toward wherever he was, and she did the first thing that came to her mind. She reached behind her and took up a particular arrow, then set it. Frantically, she tried to make out the direction the the Grollock was headed in and fired in front of it. The arrow whistled in an eerie, high pitched tone as it whizzed past the beast. As she'd hoped, it slowed its charge and turned towards her.  
The assassin dug her bare feet into the wet soil and deftly drew an arrow. She set and loosed into the charging shadow. Without hesitating, she reached for another and fired, followed by a third. In a four second time span, she'd fired three arrows, though she knew she wouldn't have time for a fourth. She had no expectation of killing the animal with the volley, but she was hoping to get lucky and perhaps hit something vital. The beast didn't slow, however, and she sprang away within inches of the angry, hulking form. She landed in the mud and cried out as she lost her footing. She slipped and recovered partially, cursing under her breath as she made an about face to search for her opponent.   
“Keep it occupied!” She heard the gnome shout from the direction of the hut.  
The assassin almost laughed. The face off with the Grollock would have been challenging enough in full daylight on dry ground, but what she was doing now was insane. She knew virtually nothing about the animal that was trying to kill her, save only the fact that she was trying to kill it in return. The creature could be heard panting and growling in the direction it had charged in, and Dayala had to assume that however tired it might be it was sure to outlast her own stamina. Whatever the gnome had planned, it had to be better than what she was doing, so she took a deep breath and prepared herself for another charge.  
To her surprise, however, the beast didn't charge. She found its outline in the darkness some distance off, and it appeared to be shaking it's head and pawing at ground.   
She readied another arrow and waited, bending her knees slightly so she could move aside once more if the need arose. A tense minute passed as the assassin waited for the beast to make a move, but it continued to stand idle.   
“Why doesn't it just run?” She muttered to herself as her eyes narrowed. Her limbs began to ache dully as the cold began to set in. The rain continued its descent and she shifted her weight to keep her muscles from going numb. She was beginning to wonder if the gnome had forgotten about her when she heard him whistle out.  
“Lass! I got a rope trap set up!” He shouted from the direction of the hut. “What's it doing?!”  
“It's not charging!” She replied sharply, her tone somewhat irritated. Now that she wanted it to move, it wasn't. She added, “It's not running either!” she said loudly, trying to carry her voice over the rain.   
“Make it charge you again; I need it over here!” The gnome shouted.  
Dayala took a deep breath. Her companion had said it like it was the easiest thing in the world, but he was expecting her to not only dodge the monstrous carnivore but also to guide it. She exhaled slowly and took a moment to think before she drew another whistling arrow. Nearly every decision from there on out would be educated guessing at best, and she came to a few quick conclusions before she fired. She turned her aim away from the outline of the creature and loosed in the direction of the hut, which was now a fair distance away. The arrow span and sang over the sound of the rain before it lodged itself neatly into the side of the shelter.  
The beast roared and began to move immediately in the direction of the arrow. Dayala could see its form lowering itself closer to the ground before it sped forward wildly. At first, she thought it was charging her, but when she dove aside and turned, she saw that it had ran past her toward the direction of the arrow.   
As it neared the hut it could be seen a bit more clearly, and Dayala’s eyes widened when she saw the type of creature she'd been playing chicken with. Before she could reflect further on it, however, the beast lurched forward suddenly and flailed headlong into the mud. It appeared to be twisted in something, and it's short, powerful legs twisted and kicked as it tried to gain its footing. It howled as it fell to its side, kicking and thrashing all the way. Dayala ran toward it as she realized what was happening and drew an arrow. She was about to nock it when she saw the gnome leap toward the beast. With a high pitched cry that sounded almost comical to the assassin, the gnome ran between the Grollock’s flailing legs and raised his trap. His face was nearly gouged off as he narrowly avoided the desperate creatures claws, but he didn't seem to notice as he leveled the trap to the beast’s underbelly. With another enraged cry, Crick thrust the business end of the trap directly against the Grollock’s exposed fur and slammed his body weight into the flat back of the mechanism.   
Even while she stood several yards off, Dayala could hear the loud mechanical clunk as the trap sprang closed. The recoil from the trap must have hit the gnome hard, because, Dayala heard crick grunt in pain as he fell backwards. The Grollock howled once as the thick steel spike found its mark before it became still.  
She ran as quickly as she dared in the mud as she cried out, “Crick, are you conscious?!”  
The gnome raised himself off of the slick ground and nodded as she came to meet him, “Aye.” He took a deep breath and glanced over at the now dead beast, “Bloody incredible… no one will believe me though,” he said with a regretful smile as he shook his head.   
Dayala couldn't help but laugh, “Really, that's what you're worried about after all that?” She exhaled deeply. Already she was coming down from her adrenaline and she reached down to help the gnome up, “How badly are you hurt?”  
He took her hand and struggled to his feet, “Not bad: bruised my shoulder, is all.” He gained his balance and looked her over, “How you holding up, lass?”  
“Tired as hell,” she admitted as she began to feel the truth of her words. She turned to the Grollock and looked it over carefully. Somewhat to her surprise, she'd actually gotten it in the eye with her first shot. It's skull was long and more convex than a bear’s: if she'd shot a bear through the eye it would almost certainly kill it, but she must have missed the creature's brain.   
“Damn fine shooting...Better than that even,” the gnome commented beside her. “I’d be dead without you… I thank you.”  
She shrugged tiredly, “No need, I'd be just as dead without you and your trap. I don't think my knife is even long enough to reach this creature’s organs; there's no guarantee I could have killed it before it got back to its feet,” she paused, “Besides, you can't thank me yet, the job's only half done. The beast is dead, but we still have to cook it; that puts me way out of my level of experience.”  
He chuckled, “T’aint so bad, more meat just means more wood needed. It's gone and wrecked my smoking hut, but I've got a cellar dug for creature’s like this.” He kicked at the sprung trap, “I can't believe it came to us stead’ of us going looking for it. Got a little too eager, I suppose.”  
She frowned and looked over the dead beast with disdain, “How long do we have before this thing goes sour?”  
“We don't,” he replied quickly as he headed back to the damaged shelter. “We're cutting her up now.”  
“Her?” Dayala frowned once more at the beast before sighing. “All right,” she said as she followed him, “Just tell me where to cut.”

Nearly two days later, Dayala was finally headed into the Sketton. It had taken the two of them some time to patch up the shelter, and she'd done her best not to complain, both inwardly and outwardly. She'd known how difficult the task she'd taken on would be, or at least she thought she knew. Between smoking the meat, repairing the shelter and doing maintenance on her equipment, Dayala had had lots of time to think. If a creature such as the Grollock existed in numbers within the Sketton, why was she voluntarily travelling there? She hadn't even been there yet she'd already experienced one of many reasons why the largely settled country wanted nothing to do with the inhospitable forest.  
Her reasons for continuing were more complex than she wanted to admit, and every time her mind asked the question she distracted herself with another task.   
Before long, it was too late to have second thoughts, and after coming so far the halfling assassin had no intention of turning back.  
She'd agreed to carry a large portion of the jerky in a makeshift pack made from the Grollock’s fur. The extra weight didn't bother her too much as they approached the forest, though she was slightly concerned about her mobility.   
The trees were just as large as they appeared from the distance, and when they approached the first of them Dayala couldn't help but reach out to touch its bark. It’s color was a deep grayish red and it was so dense that it felt almost petrified. She leaned her head back and tried to stare up to the top of the tree, but was unable to do so.  
“This is a smaller one,” Crick commented beside her as she leered up at it.  
Dayla lowered her head, “I had no idea anything like these trees existed anywhere in the world. Why do they not grow anywhere else?”  
“Your guess is good as mine,” the gnome shrugged. “Lots of theories, though. I for one, don’t reflect on it too strongly, since there’s nothing to be gained by such things.” The gnome hefted up his pack and winced from the slight pain in his bruised shoulder, “The animals in the forest are mostly… what’s the word… crespucular, so it’s best to travel during the middle of the day.”  
Dayala tried to hide a laugh, “That’s a big word for anyone; wouldn’t have expected to hear that way out here.”  
Crick looked slightly offended, “I read a lot!” He paused before taking a step forward, “Did I say it right?”  
She chuckled, “Close enough: it’s crepuscular.”  
“Aw, shite, I did get it close enough,” he muttered with a begrudging laugh of his own. He became serious a moment later, “So, the village is about ten miles into the forest from this direction. we can git there in a few hours if we move quick and quiet. We’re following this stream,” he said, pointing to a small, winding of water moving lazily along the ground. “I know I don’t need to tell you to stay close and not do anything stupid, but I’m inclined to mention it. Remember the Grollock?”  
“Could I forget so soon?”  
He shook his head, “Good. Now imagine three of em’ trying to get ya all at once. If something bad happens, you follow my lead, understood?”  
“Perfectly,” Dayala said flatly. Like before, she had every intention of taking as much help as she could get from her unlikely navigator.  
“I just needed to hear you say it; let’s go,” the gnome said as he stared ahead and began to move.

Dayala followed the trapper through the myriad trees and took in as much of the forest as her senses would allow. In many ways, whether she realized it or not, her elven tendencies manifested themselves in her behavior. There was a certain presence that she could could feel emanating from the environment, though she didn’t believe it was conscious. She could surmise that the forest was quite ancient, though she never would have been able to explain how she she knew. The countless trees sprouted out of the ground like fixtures from the soil. Most were absurdly tall, to the point where she didn’t even try to guess at their height. When she thought she’d seen the largest, she would spot another that was nearly twice the size of the last. The bases of most of the trees were easily as large around as many buildings in Lattia, and she wondered how they could possibly sustain their gargantuan proportions while still sharing space with each other. Foliage could be seen on the lowest branches of the great trees, the nearest of which were still well out of reach of anyone without the aid of a very long rope.  
As they continued along the current of the small stream, Dayala realized that something was off about the entire place. She tried to pinpoint what it was exactly, before she asked quietly, “Why is it so quiet?”  
“Hm, you noticed, eh?” Crick responded lowly as he continued to lead. “It’s always like this. In a normal forest, there’s lots of sounds: rustling and scratching, you know, tweeting birds and babbling brooks,” he chuckled. “No such sounds exist here, at least, not in the same way. “I think it’s the ground,” he said as he stomped once to prove his point, “Hard as a rock. It’s more clay than soil, which is why nothing burrows. Hells, if I wanted to get a trap into this ground, I’d need serious tools. I think all the life is happening up there,” he said as he pointed upwards. He emitted another low chuckle, “How long do ya think it would take ya to climb one of these?”  
She glanced upward and snorted as she smiled lightly, “A long, long time. Why do you ask?”  
“You’ll see,” Crick responded a bit wryly as he walked on.

The trek had been surprisingly uneventful by the time they arrived at their destination. At one point, Dayala had heard a strange ululating echoing from some direction, and Crick had crouched down quickly. She followed suite and they hunkered down for several minutes until the sound passed. When she asked him what it might have been, the gnome shook his head and told her that he wasn’t sure.  
“Now, you let me do all the talking,” he told her as they approached a large bend in the stream, “We’re nearly there.”  
She nodded while looking around, “If you say so.” From what she could see, there was a whole lot of the same thing they’d just walked through and absolutely no mark of anything civilized.  
“I do,” Crick said with a bit of sarcasm, “Stay close.”  
They followed the stream for several more minutes before Crick stopped, “We’re here.”  
Dayala blinked. At first, she thought that the gnome might be trying to play a trick on her, but after glancing around, she realized that there might be something a little different about the area. She shifted her gaze upwards and her eyes widened, “I see,” she said calmly, though she was thoroughly surprised. There, high in the trees above her, lay a myriad of bridges, ropes and huts. The alleged town was so far above them that she could barely make out the outline of several people walking to and fro across the bridges.  
“Aye. Any time now they’ll send… ah, here he comes,” Crick said as he set his pack down on the ground.  
Dayala followed the gnome’s eyes upwards before spotting the figure of a person running across one of the bridges. She might not have even spotted the runner if it weren’t for the bright red scarf they wore. The scarf wearing runner reached the end of the bridge and leaped off the side of it towards the tree it was connected to. Dayala blinked once more as she watched the figure somehow slide vertically down the surface of the tree towards the ground.  
“There’s one way to do it…” she commented dryly, more impressed than shocked.  
“Aye,” was all the gnome said as he watched along with her. “I’m sure they won’t be happy about me toting along company, but I think our haul will be enough to convince them to let us up.”  
“Let’s hope so.”  
The daring individual continued to scrape down the tree at what seemed to the assassin an alarming pace. As was her usual habit, Dayala couldn't help but wonder how exactly the person was accomplish such a feat, but she decided that she would find out soon enough.  
A low scraping sound could be heard as the quickly descending figure finally reached the ground. They wheeled deftly and the assassin caught sight of a wild looking, though relatively young man.  
“Crick, why are you here?” The man asked in a demanding tone, “And who have you brought with you? We never agreed to let you bring guests.”  
Crick stepped up to the apparent emissary and grunted, “You never said I couldn't, either. Don't worry about her, she's just a hunter I've hired to help me with a little problem,” the gnome said as he dropped his portion of bundled meat on the ground. “The problem has been taken care of, as you can see.”  
The man in the red scarf knelt to inspect the contents of the bag. Dayala noticed that the brightly colored article was actually a series of tiny red feathers woven together.   
“What kind of game?” The man asked as he pulled a slab out of the pack.  
“Would it really matter?” Crick chuckled. “Grollock snuck out of the forest, a big one, started busting up my traps. Just taste it.”  
The man did so and nodded after he'd chewed it for a moment, “How much do you have?”  
“Enough for everyone,” the trapper gestured to Dayala, “We’ve got all this, as well. I came to trade.”  
The man studied Crick for a moment before turning to Dayala, “You took the beast down?” He asked her incredulously.   
“No, just wounded it,” she replied, meeting the man's gaze. She was accustomed to being patronized and belittled because of her gender or passing age, so the man's attitude did nothing to upset her.   
“It was a joint effort: damn beast came to us,” Crick added as he glanced at the two. Anyone watching could have seen the potential for an argument between the assassin and the Skettonite, and the gnome realized it immediately, “So, are we trading or what?” He asked quickly. “If yes, I int doing it on the ground all exposed like this.”  
The man grimaced, “Fine, I’ll let you up, but I’m not the one you need to convince to trade.” He took hold of the feathered scarf and pulled it away from his neck before waving it over the top of his head.   
Dayala craned her head back as casually as she could and saw a distant flourish of red somewhere above them. A moment later, a large, cage looking box was lowered slowly.  
“What’s your name?” The Skettonite asked her suddenly, turning her attention away from the descending cage.  
She tried hard not to frown, “Lana,” she answered quickly, using the same fake name she'd given Crick.  
“Hm,” he grunted, seemingly amused, “What are you doing here? No one sane ventures this far into the these woods… you must have a death wish.”  
She graced the man with the faintest of smiles, “What does that say about you?”  
The Skettonite looked like he was about to become angry, but the edges of his mouth turned up into a wide smile, “Your point stands. I’m Ris, been living here for twelve years now,” he paused as he donned his scarf once more, “If you won’t tell me why you’ve come, that’s fine; it’s none of my business. But our leader won’t take no for an answer… just warning you.”  
She nodded and said nothing as she watched the crude elevator continue to lower.  
“Are you planning on telling anyone about us?” Ris asked a few moments later.  
To Dayala, the question sounded surprisingly genuine and almost challenging, “No. Who would believe me?”  
He laughed, “No one, and who would care?”  
It was a rhetorical question, and Dayala didn’t answer. Her eyes darted down quickly to Ris’ hands, where she saw the pair of odd gloves that he was wearing. She had no idea how their hierarchy worked, but it seemed that he was a man of some small position, and it was clear that he thought highly of himself. Already she didn’t much care for the man and it felt like he was trying to flirt with her.  
All the while, the gnome simply stood there looking quite uncomfortable. Finally, when the elevator hit the ground, he sighed with relief and headed straight toward it, “Come, let’s get off the bloody ground and up to the trees.”

The ride upwards was far smoother than Dayala had thought. It was an odd sensation, but it didn’t feel unsafe, and as they ascended, she glanced over the edge to see just how far up they were climbing.  
Eventually, the cage entered a docking port of sorts, which was little more than a thick, wide wooden platform made entirely of split logs.  
As inconspicuous as she was attempting to act, Dayala couldn’t help but marvel at the structures built into the trees. She’d always had a bit of an interest in architecture, but she’d never even conceived anything like what she was looking at. Huts made entirely of unprocessed wood and mud were somehow jutting directly out of the trees. Many appeared to be floating on nothing while others seemed to be built into the trees themselves. There were bridges everywhere and ladders upon ladders hanging from branches and notched into the sides of the red gray trees.  
An older man wearing a similar red scarf looked the group over with obvious curiosity. He gave Ris a knowing look and nodded once.   
Ris nodded to the man in reply before taking the lead, “This way,” he said evenly as he began to walk.  
Dayala hefted the makeshift pack on her back and began to move before Crick put his hand on her arm, “Hey,” he whispered sharply.  
She looked over and down at him, “Hm?”  
“Don’t ask too many questions. I still don’t know exactly what you’re looking for, and I still don’t wanna know, but wait till our trade is complete before you piss anyone off.”  
Dayala stifled a laugh. She was beginning to appreciate how straightforward the gnome was, “I’ll try hard not to.”

The trapper and the assassin followed Ris over a series of bridges and up several ladders. At first, Dayala had thought that they were walking on one giant bridge after another, but then she realized that the majority of what they were traveling on was actually the tree limbs themselves.   
She very much wanted to wander around on her own and explore the city of trees, but she knew that the sentiment was less than realistic. Most likely, she would be confined to a small area of the tree city until she could figure out her next move. She had no intention of staying longer than she had to after she completed her objective.   
Before long, they arrived at an overly large tree with an impressive doorway cut into it. The doorway was completely covered by a thick curtain of various furs and colored feathers. Ris placed his hands on one side of the curtain and moved it aside, “We’re not much for ceremony around here, but if you’re disrespectful, you might get thrown off the edge.”  
Dayala knew that the comment had been directed toward her, but she said nothing as she followed the gnome through the curtain.  
The room on the other side was impressively ornate for being built into the insides of a tree. Charcoal murals depicting various animals lined the walls of the room, each of them meticulously detailed and shaded. Dayala was somewhat surprised to see basic furniture here and there: a low table, several ornately carved chairs and what appeared to be a coat rack. Mis-colored mats and furs lined the entire floor, causing the room to look somewhat gaudy though luxurious, at least in Dayala’s mind. One of the strangest things that stuck out to her after she’d taken the room in visually was that the room seemed oddly well lit. She glanced around and noticed a few tallow candles burning here and there, but the majority of the light seemed to be coming from clusters of odd looking, glowing mushrooms that radiated a light pink light. They seemed to be sprouting from the walls themselves, though their placement had to have been intentional. She did her best not to stare, but made a mental note to look at them a little more closely when she had the chance.   
Three people inhabited the room: A man with his back turned to them against one side, a woman who appeared to be sleeping in the opposite corner, and an elderly man sitting against one wall who looked somewhat senile.  
“Crowther,” Ris said casually. “Crick is here with some meat.”  
The man standing against the wall turned slowly, “Oh, so soon?”  
Dayala looked the man over within a moment. He was tall, dark skinned, and perhaps in his mid fifties. His arms and especially his shoulders looked strong through the plain robe that he wore and she could tell that he still had much life left in him. In his hands he held a small scrawling tool and what appeared to be some sort of carving.  
“Crick, good to see you again so soon,” he said amicably enough before his eyes shifted to Dayala, “And you brought a guest...interestingly enough.”  
Crick cleared his throat, “Right… this is Lana. She helped me with a little Grollock problem in exchange for, well…” he scratched his head, “For some reason or another, she wanted to come here.”  
The man that Ris had called Crowther furrowed his brow and took a step toward Dayala, “You wanted to come to the Sketton… or here to our village?”  
“The Sketton,” she answered promptly, “I didn’t have any knowledge of your village until Crick told me, and even then he didn’t elaborate. I came to him looking for a guide and we made a deal; he didn’t promise me anything past getting me here.” She’d decided that telling the truth in it’s most basic form would be the easiest way to deal with the situation.  
Crowther looked intrigued, “I see. So the fact stands that you actually intended to come here on your own accord. Why?”  
Dayala knew that she would have to choose her words very carefully. The leader of the tree village seemed reasonable enough, but there was something animalistic in his eyes that she recognized in herself and she knew not to underestimate him, “I was hoping that we could talk about it after Crick’s business is concluded, I had no intention of interfering with your current relationship,” she paused, “It’s separate business and he’s got nothing to do with me other than acting as my guide.”  
“Very well, we’ll talk after the gnome and I have concluded our business,” the leader said with a careful smile. he gestured to one of the low chairs, “Please, sit. I’ve got a basin full of clean water over there if you’re thirsty.”  
She nodded and moved away from the gnome before taking a seat. Ris moved over to the other two men to join their conversation, leaving her alone.  
She occupied herself by studying the room a bit more closely. The most prominent thing she noticed was that absolutely everything seemed to be made out of wood or bone. This meant that the Skettonites didn’t have easy or regular access to stone or metal, which would give them few options for tools. she made a mental note of it as she rose to fetch herself some water. After drinking deeply from the basin, she sat back down and studied the art on the walls. While doing so, she saw the woman in the corner stir.  
Dayala pretended not to notice as the woman rose, but it was difficult not to because the woman began to immediately stare at her. The staring went on for nearly a full minute before the woman rose quietly and began to make her way toward the assassin.  
Great, another person to make awkward conversation with, she thought as she continued to try to mind her own business. It couldn’t be helped, however, and within seconds the recently slumbering woman was settling down in the seat across from her.  
“Hello,” the woman said softly, “How did you get here?”  
Dayala sighed inwardly, knowing that ignoring the woman or acting coldly would be a mistake, “The gnome brought me. I helped him kill a Grollock.”  
The woman smiled lightly with obvious excitement, “We don’t ever get outsiders here: Crick was the first in a very long time. I’m… Milsetta.”  
Dayala was forced to make eye contact with the woman, “Lana is my name… nice to meet you,” she added a moment later as she took in the woman’s features.  
Milsetta was more like a young girl than a woman for how soft and smooth her face was, and Dayla guessed that she couldn’t have been older than twenty one or so. Her skin was slightly less dark than that of her father, a correlation that the assassin made immediately. She had the same eyes as her father as well, eyes that were animalistic and startlingly green. Her features were both rounded and sharp all at once and Dayala thought immediately that she was the most beautiful girl that she’d ever seen. It wasn’t attraction that the assassin felt, but a combination of awe and surprise. She hadn’t ever seen a human that had appeared so immaculate.  
“Tell me the story of how you killed the Grollock,” the girl asked suddenly, her voice still filled with excitement.  
The request took Dayala somewhat off guard. She frowned slightly and glanced over at the three men who were now deep into their discussion. “Fine, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt,” she replied, thinking that she had nothing better to do at the moment.  
It only took her about ten minutes to relay the entire story, and the young woman listened intently with wide eyes. When Dayala finished, Milsetta shook her head and smiled, “That’s amazing,” she breathed, her voice as supple as her skin. “Were you scared?”  
Dayala found the porcelain like features of the girl disturbingly soft for the kind of environment they were in as she answered, “As scared as anyone would be, but if either one of us had froze that might have been the end.”  
The girl nodded, “I’ve only seen the Grollock from way up here, never down there.”  
Dayala blinked, “Oh? have you ever been down on the surface?” The question was pure curiosity and it was out of her mouth before she could stop it.  
“Never. My father says it’s too dangerous, and a bow is not enough to kill the large creatures of the Sketton.” The village leader’s daughter lowered her eyes, “What’s it like out there, in the rest of the world, I mean?”  
The assassin took a deep breath and wondered how much information the girl’s father would approve of her giving. The fact that the girl had never been on the surface would explain how soft she was, but the idea of living her entire life without ever having touched foot on the soil was mind boggling to Dayala, “It’s not much different than here, honestly. There are a lot of villages and town, lots of people. Most of the forests aren’t as dangerous as this one,” she added.  
“Father says that’s what keeps us safe.”  
“He’s probably right.”  
Milsetta looked up at Dayala with a sudden smile, “Your bow is beautiful… may I see it?”  
Dayala tried not to show her distaste at the request. There was really nothing she possessed that was as important or as personal as her bow. The hardened dark wood wasn’t just a tool she used to peddle her livelihood, it was also an extension of herself. In the last fifty years, there might have been a handful of times when she was without it, and of course, she’d been through several, but each one had been special in it’s own way and had handled just a little bit differently. She knew she was being petty, and she felt ridiculous for getting so sentimental over something so simple, so she nodded once and reached over her back to retrieve it, “Here you are,” she said as she set it unstrung on the low table in front of them.  
Milsetta placed her hand on the smooth bow’s surface and ran her palm across it, “It’s beautiful,” she said almost worshipfully, “Just like you.”  
Dayla furrowed her brow, barely recovering from the girl’s compliment, “Oh… thank you,” she mumbled, not sure what else to say. To her relief, the girl continued to speak.  
“Here, everyone knows how to shoot,” Milsetta said with a wide smile. “We spend many hours practicing and it becomes very competitive. The best shooters wear scarves around their necks made of gillbird feathers,” she frowned for a moment, “Like Ris for instance. ” Her frown was quickly replaced by a grin, “But you must be an incredible archer. I imagine that you could build a scarf for yourself very quickly, maybe faster than anyone else ever has,” she said brightly.  
Dayala was sure about the girl’s claim: she probably could build a scarf faster than anyone in the village, but killing innocent birds just for their feathers was not her idea of hunting. Once more, her pride took a backseat to her practicality, and she disagreed with the girl as cordially as she could, “Oh, I’m not so sure. Hunting for birds and taking them down with arrows is an incredible feat and difficult for even the most skilled bowmen.” At that point, it almost sounded as if she were trying to convince herself.  
“I’m sure of it… you’re a better bowman than anyone here,” the girl said with an alarming amount of conviction as her eyes narrowed.  
“You haven’t seen me shoot,” Dayala replied carefully as she began to feel a peculiar anxiety rise up within her.  
Milsetta smiled innocently, though her eyes appeared feral, “I don’t need to, I can see it already. You’re the greatest archer I’ve ever seen, besides grandfather,” she said as she looked over to the aged man. “Grandfather has largely lost his mind, but even ten years ago he could shoot better than anyone,” Milsetta turned her eyes back to Dayala’s bow and caressed it slowly, “He told me that what separates the amazing shooters from the good is purely a train of mind. There comes a time when the movements and the timing are as natural as breathing, and then the archer ceases to aim,” she licked her lips and continued, “And then, when he is dedicated enough, he becomes one with his bow,” she raised her eyes and stared into Dayala’s, “He sees his target and simply looks at the place he’d like the arrow to go… and it goes right to that spot,” she leaned back and laughed. “Those were his words. For a long time, I thought they were just the overly glorious musings of a sentimental man, but I see that in you.”  
Dayala took a deep breath as she tried to piece together exactly what was happening. It was obvious that the girl sitting opposite her was becoming obsessive, and it wasn’t difficult to understand why. Anyone living in the same place for their entire life who was completely unaware of what was happening in the world outside of them was bound to end up like Milsetta. There, in the most dangerous forest in the continent, laid the safest village that the assassin had ever seen, and the leader’s daughter was, in many ways, daintier and more innocent than any princess anywhere. Still, Dayala knew what the girl was thinking when she looked at her; she’d seen the look thousands of times from many people and it was impossible to mistake, but the halfling didn’t want to admit it to herself.  
She’s coming on to me, Dayala was finally forced to acknowledge. She had no idea how things worked in their village, but same sex relationships were largely frowned upon in the known world. Regardless, what disturbed her more was how worshipful the girl was of her, and Dayala didn't need any extra attention.  
She heard a slight commotion behind her and was relieved to see Crick step up beside her.  
“Our trade is finished,” he said with a smile.  
It was clear that the gnome was pleased with the end results of their labor, but Dayala couldn’t have cared less. All she wanted was to speak with the village leader and find the information she was looking for. There was no reason for her to be rude, however, and she humored him with a small smile of her own, “I’m glad things worked out for you.”  
He nodded once, “I’m glad you were there to help,” he replied distractedly as he was joined by the two men he was just dealing with.  
Upon seeing her father, Milsetta smiled broadly and gestured to Dayala, “Father, Lana is an incredible archer; she put an arrow through the eye of the Grollock in the darkness while it was raining!”  
Crowther raised an eyebrow, “Filling my daughter’s head with ridiculous stories, are you?” He asked, though it was clear from his tone that he was amused.  
Crick answered before Dayala got the chance, “It’s true, I was there. Of course, we didn’t find out until after it was down, but she nailed her, sure enough.”  
Dayala’s discomfort was beginning to turn to anxiety, “I got lucky, nothing more. Having one’s life on the line often brings out the most skill a person possesses, so if it was intentional, it was only due to fear.”  
Crowther pawed his chin, “Even so, that’s impressive. We don’t try to take down those beasts with a bow, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone get a good enough angle to get one right in the eye.”  
“It’s amazing that you weren’t torn to pieces,” Ris chimed in, obviously less impressed than the village leader.  
The assassin shrugged, “It went how it went, and here we are. I try not to dwell on such things.”  
Ris frowned while Crowther laughed, “That’s all we dwell on here because we have nothing better to do,” he laughed even louder before continuing, “You must be good.” He glanced down at the table and looked over the bow before crossing his arms, “Crick, have you seen her shoot? How good is she?”  
Crick tried to hide a frown as he shot Dayala a helpless look, “Well… she’s… good. Merry good.”  
“I don’t know what that means,” the village leader chuckled, “But I’m guessing that she’s impressed you.”  
Dayala sighed inwardly. Already she knew where the conversation was going, and already she could guess how it was going to end. She was slightly surprised however, when Milsetta spoke.  
“Father, Lana is the greatest archer I’ve ever met, beside Grandfather,” she said surely, as if nothing in the world were truer.  
Everyone turned their eyes on her, including Dayala as she pressed her lips together tightly to hide her dismay.  
“Really? How can you know, child?” Crowther asked, still laughing a bit.  
“I just do,” the young woman answered easily.  
“I see. You think she’s better than Ris?” He asked, his arms still crossed.  
She glanced up at the man wearing the red scarf and nodded, “She’s better than him, yes.”  
To his credit, Ris kept hold of his composure, though the man’s already dark expression began to turn a noticeable shade darker, “You haven’t seen her shoot, Milsetta, how can you make such a claim?” He asked calmly enough, though his words with laced with anger.  
“I just know!” the young woman snapped up at the man in reply, raising her voice for the first time since Dayala had met her.  
“Come now, hold, you two,” Crowther gestured to Dayala, “What do you say to this, Lana? How would you gauge your skill?”  
to the assassin, the question sounded as unfair at it was absurd. In any reality, it was almost impossible for anyone to know how good they really were at something unless they were judged by someone else. Moreover, it seemed like she was being dragged into an existing situation that didn’t involve her, but as always, she was going to get dragged into it. “It’s difficult for me to answer that, because I never compare my skill to anyone else’s,” she replied truthfully.”  
Crowther’s smile wavered, “I like this woman, Crick, she’s interesting,” he said, though he was still looking at her. “Very well, how often do you hit your target?”  
Dayala knew that one wrong step would likely get her thrown out. She remembered what Crick had said about their people and the way they worked, and she very much doubted that humility would work in her favor. She hesitated for a moment before she answered, “I almost always hit my target… unless it’s dark and raining.”  
Ris nearly lost his composure as Crowther grinned widely, “Big words… very big. You’ll forgive me if I don’t take your word for it. Would you be willing to prove it?”  
Outwardly, Dayala was a rock, but inwardly, she felt like screaming. Throughout the course of her violent life, she’d been challenged to many, many archery contests. The opponents had been as various as the stakes, but in the end, there was only real reason why anyone challenged her: they wanted to be better than her. Or perhaps they just wanted to be better overall. It seemed that most men who challenged her simply couldn’t stand the idea of a woman who could shoot better than they could, but she doubted it would matter even if she were a man. She was non-competitive by nature, and she had meant what she’d said about not comparing her skills to anyone else’s. She took a deep breath before she responded, “To be honest, I don’t feel inclined to if it’s just for the sake of competition.”  
Ris finally lost his temper, “She’s insulting us!” He exclaimed as he clenched his fists. He leaned forward and narrowed his eyes at the assassin, “You can’t talk as if you’re the greatest archer that ever lived and not make a stand to back it!”  
The village leader put his hand on Ris’ shoulder, “Calm down, Ris.” He said with a neutral tone. He faced Dayala and gave her a curious look, “I can respect that, but there’s more to this than you know. I’ll tell you what, if you can beat Ris, I’ll tell you about whatever it is you came here for. Otherwise, you can keep your pride, and your ignorance, intact,” he offered with a small smile. His tone hadn’t been demeaning, but there was a noticeable air of patronization in it.  
“Fine, if that’s what needs to be done,” the assassin agreed immediately.  
Ris looked surprised for a moment, seemingly taken back by her quick response, “Hold on, what do I get if I win?”  
Dayala took up her bow and handed it to him, “I’ll give you this. It’s made out of ash; a tree that you don’t have anywhere within hundreds of miles.  
The hunter took the bow from her, his face still red from his now subsiding anger, “Very well,” he said after a moment of looking it over. He handed it back to her, “I’ll challenge you, but not while you’re using that,” he paused, obviously not wanting to sound like he needed a handicap as he continued, “The bow’s must be the same length and make, as well as the arrows.”  
Dayala would have shrugged, but she didn’t want to offend the man adjacent to her more than she already had, “Fine, just say when.”  
“Now,” the hunter said as he turned away from her.  
Dayala glanced at Milsetta, who was staring at her intently. She turned her eyes away from the girl quickly and faced Crowther, “Forgive my lack of knowledge concerning your customs, but is he going to be the only person I’m competing against?”  
Crowther nodded, still looking amused, “He’s one of our best and only a little better than me: he’ll represent us well.”  
Dayala nodded once as she stood, “I’m ready.”  
Milsetta scrambled backwards suddenly as she stood in turn, “You can use my bow,” she said hurriedly as she ran outside.  
After the girl had left, Crowther turned to the gnome and laughed, “Crick, I had no idea your friends were so entertaining.”  
The gnome, who had kept quiet the entire time, gave the man an obviously fake smile, “Me neither.”

To Dayala, the next hour and a half felt like an entire day of waiting. The delay was caused by nearly everyone in the small village gathering to see a stranger shoot against Ris. She tried hard to understand the situation through their eyes, but mostly she was just annoyed. In traveling to the Sketton, she’d expected to face off against terrible creatures, natural forces and starvation, but she hadn’t expected to deal with the same nonsense that she’d been forced to face while living abroad.  
Finally the match started, much to her relief. Both she and the hunter stood in the middle of a large bridge amidst a myriad of hanging targets. The rules were simple and had been explained to her a moment before she’d headed for the starting point. Each archer was allotted the same amount of arrows and was required to hit as many targets as possible. There was no time limit, and the archers would take turns until their arrows were depleted. The one who hit the most targets at the end would be the winner, and if both contenders hit the same amount of targets then they would compete with long distance shots; both parties shooting further and further targets until someone missed.  
The first set of targets were almost laughably close, and Dayala matched the hunter easily. Milsetta’s bow was made of a very dense wood that didn’t snap back easily, which made the shooting somewhat challenging. The arrows were made entirely of wood as well, with the exception of the feathered vanes, and were impressively straight for being made without the use of metal tools.  
Each time Ris hit a target, the villagers would scream encouragement. Dayal thought that they might boo her at first, but she was slightly surprised to hear them shouting encouragements at her as well.  
These people really do love their damn competitions, she thought as she nocked another arrow and raised her bow. She saw the target, a small log that hung from a sinewed roped, and loosed. The arrow flew straight enough and thunked into the log a half second later and the people cheered.  
The exchange went on for some minutes as Dayala matched the hunter arrow per arrow. Eventually, both shooters depleted their arrows, which numbered about a dozen or so, and more were brought to them. It wasn’t surprising to the assassin that Ris was able to shoot so well; after all, he made his livelihood with the bow just as much as he did, only she guessed that seldom were the stakes ever as high for his mistakes as they were for hers.  
The hunter made the first long distance shot at a log that was much further way that the previous targets they’d been firing at. His arrow flew true past the bridge and over the ground far below, sinking itself neatly into the target as the villagers cheered.  
As Dayala raised her bow to make the shot, her mind was somewhere else entirely. She wondered how the conversation with the village elder would go. Even if he gave her any useful information, there was no guarantee that she would be able to do anything with it. The chances were high that he would know nothing at all, and then she’d be back at square one. She was barely conscious of her own actions as she loosed and sunk an arrow beside Ris’, and she sank back into her thoughts as she waited for the hunter to make his next shot.  
The second target was substantially further out, and the hunter took an extra moment to take aim before he loosed. The arrow wavered, and dropped a little low, but found it’s target well enough as the villagers erupted into applause.  
Dayala forced herself to concentrate as she nocked an arrow. If she were using her own bow, the distance wouldn’t have phased her, but her bow was longer and more powerful and her arrows were far superior to the ones she was given. She raised, drew and loosed all within the same moment and her arrow found purchase a bit higher than the hunter’s had.  
“You’re very talented,” Ris said beside as he readied another arrow. There was much less anger in his voice as he stared out over the bridge toward the next target.  
“As are you,” she replied genuinely with an impatient wince.  
The hunter raised his bow, took aim and fired. His arrow nearly fishtailed, and this time it was almost too high, but it chinked itself into the distant log with several inches to spare on either side.  
Dayala watched the trajectory of the hunter’s arrow and was already raising her bow before it had arrived. She loosed a second later and sunk her arrow nearly dead center into the target.  
The villagers were becoming quieter, which probably meant that they were becoming more nervous. Dayala didn’t want to distract herself, so she made a conscious effort to focus on the targets ahead.  
“There are only two targets left,” Ris said calmly as he raised his bow.  
“I see three,” Dayala replied evenly as the hunter sighted down.  
Ris loosed and turned to her, not even bothering to see if his shot was going to succeed or not, “The third is too far, we don’t use it.”  
Dayala furrowed her brow as she traced the hunter’s shot to it’s mark. So far, it had been the best he’d made, “Why is it there, then?”  
Ris pressed his lips together, “Crowther’s father, the old man you saw earlier, put it there when he was lucid. I think it’s a sick joke of some sort. We use it to have a little fun with the new archers when they come of age.”  
Dayala chuckled, “Can you hit it?”  
Ris’ eyes narrowed, “It wouldn’t matter even if I could; hitting anything from this distance would render the arrow useless. It wouldn’t have enough power to be practical,” he paused, “It’s your turn.”  
Dayala nodded once and readied an arrow. The targets were quite far away now, but certainly not a distance that she hadn’t dealt with before. She drew and loosed fluidly and a moment later her arrow sunk beside the hunter’s in almost the exact same spot.  
The crowd cheered loudly, and it seemed that everyone was riveted to the contest.  
Ris took a deep breath and readied an arrow, “No one has ever matched me up to this point… I commend you, regardless of the outcome.”  
Dayala said nothing as she watched the man loose. The shot was solid, and it whizzed almost perfectly straight through the massive trees as it sunk soundlessly into the small target in the distance.  
Dayala frowned, “What happens if I make the shot?”  
“A tie.”  
Her frown deepened as a crease of irritation formed on her forehead, “What does that mean, normally?”  
“Normally, it means we would both be considered of equal skill and no one would be considered the winner or loser. In our case, it means neither one of us would get what we want.”  
Dayla tried her utmost to quell her rising anger, “How often do people tie?”  
“Rarely. Only the best of us can hit these targets, so it seems like Milsetta was right about you.”  
The halfling assassin exhaled sharply, “I came a long way to talk to your leader... a damn long way. There must be something else I can do; I can’t settle for a tie.”  
Riss expression became angry once more, though he did a better job of keeping his temper in check, “You haven’t even made the shot yet, and you’re talking about it like it’s already happened.”  
Dayala was beginning to lose her patience. Not just with the competition, but with the entire job in general. If she lived through the experience, she decided that she would never again take on a job that was so lengthy. She’d been journeying for well over a month and she had little to nothing to show for it, “I don’t need to make that shot. As far as I’m concerned, I’ve already lost. I’ve got nothing to prove to you and you’re a great archer, Ris, but I can’t let this go,” she said quietly as she raised her bow. She drew and stared straight ahead at the most distant target. It was so far away that it was barely visible through the myriad of shadows being cast through the higher limbs of the trees, and she continued to speak as she tilted her bow to a sixty degree angle, “I’m calling this shot so you’ll know that it’s not luck… what you do afterwards is up to you,” she said before she loosed.  
Ris was about to protest before he saw the assassin’s slender fingers release the arrow. He’d never seen anyone put such an extreme arch on a shot; from his perspective, his opponent had practically shot straight up over her head. The spectators had no idea what was happening as their heads shot up and over to trace the outline of the arrow as it whipped upwards and forward through the trees. it climbed higher and higher as it almost broke through the canopy of the great trees, before it began to arch downwards. It sailed past the previous targets as it gained momentum, gravity aiding its trajectory. Before anyone could blink, the arrow moved well past Ris’ last target and planted itself firmly into the most distant target, striking the suspended log not from the side but closer to it’s top.  
For a long time, no one spoke or moved. Ris stared unblinkingly past where his last shot had been, a look of confused dismay on his face.  
Dayala lowered the Milsetta’s bow slowly and closed her eyes for a moment. She’d made the shot purely by her honed instinct; she hadn’t even taken a moment to consider the trajectory, and for a moment, she wasn’t sure if the light wooden arrow would fly that far. Likewise, the bow she was given was hardly adequate for such long distances, but she had managed to pull through.  
The villagers began to murmur amongst themselves as Ris finally lowered his bow and shook his head, “I can’t hit it… I won’t embarrass myself by trying,” he said quietly. “I thought I was at least your equal, but you are beyond me.” He shook his head once more, “I will never be able to shoot like that,” he added. From the sound of his tone, it seemed as if he were admitting an epiphany to himself more than he was addressing her.  
Dayala wanted to say something to the man, but she had no words for him. It wasn’t guilt she felt, but rather, anger. In the past, she had never once enjoyed showing off her skill and humiliating her opponent, even if it was well deserved. Making shots that most people thought were impossible only caused others to hate her and question their own skill. It had never ended well, and she very much doubted that it ever would. The fact that she had been driven to it once more frustrated her to the point of exasperation, but there was nothing else she could have done.  
The assassin took a step back from the hunter and opened her mouth to speak, but again, no words were there. The truth was, Ris was probably right: he never would be as good as she was, and she hated herself for knowing it.  
Crowther and his daughter were already making their way down the bridge to meet them as the onlookers dispersed. It was clear that most of them were still confused as to the outcome of the contest, and while some stuck around to find out,the majority seemed more interested in going back to whatever else they were doing.  
“Hunter,” Ris spoke lowly.  
She turned and looked him in the eyes, “Yeah?”  
“How do you become so skilled?” He asked earnestly.  
She pursed her lips, “A person needs a reason. Here, you have no such reason, and I don’t see a reason why you would need to be.”  
He considered her words before chuckling sardonically, “Do you pity me?”  
She shook her head, “No, I have no ill feelings towards you,” she answered honestly. “Are you concerned that your people will shun you now?”  
His chuckle turned to a bitter yet honest laugh, “No, not at all. No one could have made that shot, absolutely no one; not like that anyway.”  
Crowther and Milsetta came within earshot and Ris raised his hand, “I forfeit the match!”  
Crowther nodded as he came closer, “I see.” He wore his perpetual smile, but his eyes were hard as he glanced to Dayala, “Lana… would you like to join my family for dinner this evening?”  
She nodded, “Thank you, yes.”  
The assassin moved her eyes to the young woman and stepped toward her, “Milsetta, thanks. I hope I haven’t put too much wear on it,” she said as she handed the bow back to it’s rightful owner.  
Milsetta, who was staring at Dayala intently with wide eyes, took it absently, “It’s wonderful to see it shoot so far… I had no idea that it could.”  
When Dayala relinquished the bow, she tried not to flinch as Milsetta brushed her fingers ever so slightly over her own. She took a deep breath and faced the girl’s father quickly, “Would it be rude for me to take a walk around your town? It’s incredibly beautiful… I’d like to see it a little more closely.”  
Crowther grinned with a shrug, “Go where you like. We’ll see you around sundown… we’ll talk then.”  
She nodded once, “Thanks.”  
She turned to leave when she heard Milsetta behind her, “Lana, would you like me to show you around?”  
Dayala tried not to frown, “Thank you, Milsetta, but… I prefer to be alone after a contest.”  
She nodded, seemingly less disappointed than the assassin might have thought, “I understand; Ris is the same way.”  
She nodded as she glanced around. It seemed that her opponent had already left. She flashed a brief smile at the girl, ‘We’ll speak later… I’ll tell you some more stories if you’d like.”  
Crowther laughed, “I’d like to hear some of those stories as well.”  
Dayala nodded as she finally walked away from the Father and daughter. it was clear that Crowther was crafty and dangerous, but she wasn’t afraid of him dealing wrongly with her. It was the girl that disturbed her more. As Dayala had turned to leave, Milsetta had been clutching her bow with both hands, hugging it closely to her body. That wasn’t strange in of itself, but the girl’s lips and hands were trembling noticeably.

Dayala spent the rest of the day taking in the sights of the suspended village. She spoke with a few people here and there, or rather, they spoke with her. There was more than one person who wanted to meet the mysterious archer who had made the impossibly legendary shot, and Dayala wondered several times if they would be able to handle the truth about her. What would they think if they saw the kind of shot that she would choose as a challenge for herself? It was little more than an amusing thought as she made her way around. Despite her reasons for being there and her unpleasant experiences with the contest, she very much enjoyed the village itself. The people weren’t nearly as wild as Crick had made them out to be, but then, perhaps she had more in common with them than anyone in Lattia. It had been a very long time since she’d felt so comfortable anywhere, and the idea of giving up on her wild goose chase and staying for awhile did cross her mind. Even so, the idea of living in such a place for the rest of her days wasn’t appealing for many reasons, and as the sun began to set she had well since pushed all ideas of staying out of her head.

A short time later, she found herself sitting across from Crowther and his family among a surprisingly impressive spread. Most of the food consisted of meat, but there was a fair amount of wild berries and nuts. Dayala noted that Ris was not around, but she made no mention of it as they began to eat. Crowther introduced the assassin to his father, who was sitting with them, though the elderly man still had the distant look of senility about him. At first, Dayala had dreaded having to carry the conversation, but the village leader went on and on to his father about how Dayala had hit his target and seemed to be doing a fine job of entertaining himself.  
Dayala ate lightly and told several stories as the dinner continued, though she left out parts that might hint at her profession. Mostly, she spoke of the times when she used to hunt often, but she recalled them as they had just happened the day before. The entire time, Milsetta listened to every word the woman spoke, completely transfixed. Dayala tried not to notice as she progressed through the evening, but she was growing more and more uncomfortable.  
Finally, it seemed that the night was coming to an end, and Crowther became somewhat serious, “All right, Lana, let’s hear what you have to say. What did you journey so far north to find that’s worth risking your life for?”  
Dayala frowned slightly as she glanced at the village leader’s father, then back to his daughter, “I was hoping that we might be able to talk in private,” she said carefully, not wanting to let more people know about her reasons for being there than she had to.  
Crowther nodded, “We are in private. My daughter is my life: there is nothing that I know that she does not. My father, well… he placed his broad hand over the old man’s shoulder, “He’s elsewhere most days. Please, speak freely.”  
“Very well,” Dayala replied hesitantly. She knew that she would have to be as specific as possible without giving too much away about her real purpose, and if she took too long to respond to any possible questions that she would appear even more suspicious, so she began, “I’m looking for a man. I… don’t know his name, but I really need to find him. I don’t even have much of a description to go on; all I know is that he was headed toward the Sketton about seven years ago. I suppose I’m looking for any information at all that might help me find him.”  
The next two seconds that passed probably told the assassin more than any words that could have been spoken. Milsetta’s face brightened and she was about to speak when her father quickly placed his hand on her shoulder, “What would you want with this man if you found him?” He asked smoothly, almost as if he was trying too hard to sound collected.  
Dayala paused, not wanting to answer too quickly, “He might know something...about me… that’s all,” she lied easily. She concluded that involving herself within a possible reason would make her quest seem more personal, and therefore, less easy to pry into.  
“I see. I have an obligation to protect my people, that’s the only reason I’m asking.” He took a deep breath before exhaling deeply, “Ris is the last person who’s come from the outside… and that was twelve years ago. No one has come from outside of the Sketton in the last seven years,” he said as he shook his head.  
Dayala’s heart sank, “I see,” she said quietly, unable to hide her disappointment. It seemed like the village leader was trying to hide something, but she was in no position to prod him, nor did she have anything to use as leverage against him. She’d have to resort to slinking around the village and asking small questions until she found someone who was willing to help her. “Is there anyone, as far as you know, that lives in the Sketton?” she added suddenly, not expecting a usable answer.  
“On the ground? No,” Crowther shook his head. “Living on the ground is impossible; it’s suicide to even try. The ground is too hard to plant and the animals are ravenous and deadly. I’m sorry I can’t help you,” he added, his tone somber. “Tomorrow, if you’d like to head back south, I can lead you to the outskirts of the forest myself.”  
Dayala nodded. The way that the man had spoken hadn’t sounded like an offer, it sounded like a command. It was clear that she wasn’t in any real danger with the Skettonites, but she also wasn’t welcomed long term. One thing was certain, she wasn't leaving until she found another lead, though it was clear that the man sitting across from her wasn't going to be of any use to her, “Thank you, it’s much appreciated.” She pursed her lips suddenly as she asked, “Where is Crick?”  
“He left some time ago. I assumed that he told you. I think he wanted to be out of the Sketton before sundown, which is a wise idea.” Crowther shrugged.  
“Ah, “ was all Dayala said in reply. She was surprised that she felt slightly hurt at the fact that the gnome hadn't said goodbye, but then, they were never really friends. Her thoughts turned back to the situation at hand as she asked, “I hate to be a burden, so if it pleases you I'll sleep outside tonight.”  
Crowther furrowed his brow and smiled slightly, “No, that doesn't please me at all. We have plenty of vacant rooms here and there. There's a tanning room several bridges away from here that has a good cot in it. It's warm and well away from any prying eyes, so you'll have some privacy.”  
“Oh, that's very kind of you,” the assassin replied with a weak smile. She was now not only weary of pretending to be cordial, she was downright exhausted. A part of her was disturbed at how introverted she’d become, and the entire social experience had been more harrowing than fighting the Grollock. She must have looked it too, because Crowther blinked at her and shook his head.  
“You look pretty beat, friend. Why don’t you settle in now?” He said as he stood slowly. “I’ll get someone to prepare the room for you, make yourself at home until then.”  
Dayala nodded, not having enough energy left to argue with the man. Her situation definitely could have been worse, but she always preferred real danger to political danger, and seemingly even the Sketton threatened her with the latter.  
As Crowther left the room, his daughter fidgeted until he was out of sight. Finally, she leaned forward and asked Dayala lowly, “Are you leaving tomorrow?”  
“Perhaps,” she answered quietly as she glanced at the old man. He looked glazed over, as if he were somewhere else entirely. For a brief moment, Dayala reflected on the fact that the man was probably as old as she was, maybe a little older, and he’d probably had just as many hunting experiences as she herself had. She felt a sudden, unexplainable connection to him, but the feeling was gone as quickly as it came. “Maybe I’ll stay another day if your father allows it,” she added as she averted her gaze away from the girl’s grandfather.  
Milsetta nodded and said nothing, an act which almost aroused more suspicion in the assassin. Ever since she’d arrived, Milsetta had been plenty chatty, but her silence caused Dayala a bit of unrest. Before she could study the girl’s features closer, however, her father re-entered the room and sniffed.  
“When you go out, go straight past the first bridge and cross the second one on the left. Two bridges out from there, there’s a ladder that goes up to a higher limb. Climb the ladder and take the only path available and you’ll reach the tanning room. If you wait a few minutes, there’ll be a basin of water for you and some extra furs,” he yawned out the last part loudly. “I suppose it’s time for us to settle in as well,” he said as he approached his father.  
Dayala watched as the village leader lifted his father slowly and settled the senile man into a cot in the corner. Once more her thoughts turned to age and she wondered if she would even make it to such an age as to where someone would need to take care of her. The thought made her laugh lowly, but she held in it.  
No one will be around to take care of you, hell, you won’t even live that long, She thought morosely.

Some time later, she found herself alone within the tanning room. The place had been easy enough to find with Crowther’s instructions, and it was well lit with several of the strange, glowing mushrooms that she’d seen nearly everywhere since she’d gone exploring. As promised, there was a decent amount of water waiting there for her, as well as extra blankets and some sort of fruit that she’d never seen before. She washed her face and removed her traveling cloak before settling down and closing her eyes. More than anything, she wanted to think about her next move, but she was so tired that she fell asleep immediately.

She awoke with a start. Her sleep had been deep and dreamless, but something had startled her awake, and she fought to focus her eyes as she looked around the room. She reached for her hunting knife instinctively as she winced at the empty room. There was no one in sight, but she felt the presence of someone as sure she could feel her own breathing.   
“Come out and tell me what you want,” she said lowly, too groggy for any games. From her current position, she had a good vantage point of the room and no one would have been able to sneak up on her.  
A long moment passed before a timid voice answered, “Lana… it’s me, Milsetta.”  
Dayala furrowed her brow, What the hell is she doing here? She asked herself inwardly as she replied, “Milsetta… what is it?” She tried not to sound as irritated or surprised as she felt.  
The slender girl stepped out from the behind a rack of hanging furs and shuffled forward, “I...I’m sorry I woke you… I… sorry.”  
Dayala lifted herself into a sitting position and took a deep breath to clear her head, “Milsetta, I don’t want to sound rude, but there must be something you need to tell me if you’re here. Am I also correct in saying that no one knows you’re here?”  
The village leader’s daughter nodded once,”Yes on both counts.”  
The assassin rubbed her eyes and sat up completely. This might be her chance to gain the information she’d been looking for, but she knew all too well that no information was free. She didn’t want to lose her chance, but she knew better than to assume that the girl simply wanted to help her, “You have information about the man I’m looking for?”  
“Yes… I can tell you where he lives,” the girl replied promptly. In the pinkish light, her features looked even softer, though her eyes were steely.  
Dayala paused, “What do you want in exchange for this information?”  
The girl looked taken back, as if Dayala had hurt her somehow, “Want? I… don’t…” she sighed heavily as her lips began to quiver. “I don’t know how to say this, Lana, but I’ll do my best.” The girl clutched her hands together in an apparent attempt to calm herself, “When Ris finishes his scarf I’m appointed to marry him. He’s very close now; he should finish any day. When that time comes, I’ll have to start living with him. I’ll have his children and raise them and ultimately my entire life will spent up in these trees,” she looked away from Dayala and shook her head, “I don’t want that, I… I’m scared.” Milsetta made a fist with her right hand and held it to her side, “I had resolved myself to it… until I met you yesterday. I’ve never seen anyone like you, Lana,” she said as he focused her gaze on the assassin, “I’ve never felt like this about anyone. I know I sound crazy, but…” the girl took a step closer to Dayala, “I want you.”  
Dayala tried to keep her breathing steady as a hard knot began to twist in her stomach. She had no idea how she was going to deal with the situation at hand, but she knew that she’d have to come up with something for both of their sakes. She shook her head as she scrambled to think of a solution, “Milsetta, I can’t stay here, I’ve got my own path. Surely you understand that?” She tried to make her tone as gentle as possible, though her words were laced with fear. It was clear that the girl was emotionally unstable, and if the assassin said the wrong thing she might cause a terrible reaction.  
The girl nodded, “I know, really I do, but…” she took another step closer. Dayala could see her more clearly now, already tears were forming at the sides of the girl’s eyes and her shoulders were trembling. She was wearing some sort of fur robe that looked to be made of one piece, and it looked in that moment like it was so heavy that it would crush the fragile girl. “When I touched your hand, I felt so much heat. When you told me about how you killed the Grollock, I got so excited and when you made that amazing shot, I…” the girl’s eyes glistened as if she were entranced, “I became so wet. I’ve never been that excited before,” she shook her head angrily as her voice began to waver, “Ris is never going to make me feel like that, I know he won’t… he can’t.” She clutched both of her hands to her chest as her breath began to come out in rasps, “I know you can’t stay, Lana, and I would never ask you to. But… if you make love to me then I’ll tell you want you want to know!” She stepped forward suddenly as tears began to flow freely from her eyes, “I want to feel real passion just once, real pleasure. I offer myself to you in hopes that you’ll help me. If I can share at least one night with you then at least I’ll have something to remember,” she almost whispered as her hands moved over her chest.  
Dayala watched in dismay as the girl let the fur robe fall to the ground around her, leaving herself completely naked. The assassin had been in many precarious situations in her life, but seldom could she remember ever being so scared, “You’re father will have me killed!” she hissed as she rose to her feet suddenly. It was a statement that did nothing to relay her true thoughts about the matter, but it was the first thing she could think to say.  
The girl took a step forward, “He doesn’t have to find out… no one does.”  
Dayala wanted to look away from the girl, but found that she couldn’t tear her eyes away. She had never been particularly attracted to women, and most days she found that she wasn’t attracted to the majority of men, but there was something inexplicably arresting about the girl’s eyes and her demeanor. She glanced over the girl’s form and shook her head, willing herself to speak, but no words came. A hundred different emotions coursed through her ash she tried to make sense of her muddled thoughts. The girl was reaching out to her in a way that she hadn’t been reached out to in decades, and a small part of Dayala wanted to let it happen.  
Get a fucking grip on yourself! Her mind screamed at her suddenly. This is so wrong in every way, you need to stop this! Dayala’s mind raged against her emotions like an iron vice.  
With a deliberate motion, Dayala stepped forward to meet the naked girl and wrapped her arms around her. She pulled the girl to herself, hugging her tightly, “Milsetta, calm yourself,” she whispered.  
Milsetta trembled in the assassin’s grip and looked up at the taller woman with eyes that were laced with sorrow and lust, “I can’t… please kiss me.”  
Dayala did. With a tenderness that surprised even her, she lowered her head and kissed the girl on her forehead.  
The kiss was somehow tranquilizing, and it communicated more to the girl than any words that Dayala could have spoken. Milsetta looked up at the assassin for a long moment before she broke down into tears.  
Dayala tried to keep her breathing steady as the girl pressed her face into her chest and wept uncontrollably. Dayala stroked the girl’s hair for several minutes until her crying subsided to quiet sobs.  
“I don’t want to marry Ris,” the girl spoke after a long time, her voice thin and weak.  
Dayala had had a bit of time to think about what to say to the desperate girl, and she replied in the best way she knew how to, “Milsetta, I have some words for you if you will hear them.”  
The girl nodded, nuzzling Dayala as if she were a small child.  
“I am much older than I appear. I’m old enough to know the world fairly well and I’ve been to many places. I’m experienced enough to tell you that the world outside the Sketton can be very, very dangerous, especially for a woman like you. That being said, the only person who’s keeping you here is you.” Dayala placed her hand on the girl’s cheek and wiped away the moisture. “You listen to me, Milsetta. The cost for freedom is high, in some cases too high a price for most. If you decide to stay here, you’ll be safe and taken care of, but if you decide to leave then things won’t be so easy. People may attack you in order to rob you or to rape you, maybe both. You are exceptionally beautiful, and men and some women will do almost anything to have their way with you. If you leave, you have to be prepared to fight, to kill if necessary. You can make an honest living as a hunter, or you can use your natural beauty and become a dancer. Hell, you can learn a new skill and do whatever you want, the point is, you’ll have your freedom but you’ll have to work hard. I’ll tell you something else: there’s a lot of slavery in the world, and sometimes it comes in the form of marriage,” she shifted away from the girl and stepped back in order to look at Milsetta squarely, “Not all marriage is bad, but if it seems like you’re getting the short end of the bargain then don’t do it. People get married for lots of reasons, not the least of which is simply because they can’t stand the thought of being alone,” she paused, “I don’t want to have sex with you, Milsetta. I know how you must be feeling, I do, but giving yourself away to me for information isn’t something that will ever sit well with either of us. Being strong is difficult and often isolating, and it can get so lonely that you think you might die from loneliness, but it’s not a good enough reason to use yourself as a bartering chip.” Dayala brushed the girl’s cheek and smiled, I’m not a god, I’m just a woman like you who’s been around; I don’t want you to idolize me and you deserve someone who actually loves you.“I’m not encouraging you to leave and there’s a high chance that you’ll lose your life if you do, I’m just laying out the truth. You can cut your own path in whatever way you choose and you may find happiness, but no matter what you choose, you will always regret doing nothing. Do you understand?”  
Milsetta nodded weakly, “I do,” she took a step back and sighed, “Thank you… I’ll think about what you said.”  
“Good. Now, you should go before the sun comes up,” Dayala said as she averted her eyes. The girl didn’t seem at all embarrassed about her nudity, but Dayala was plenty uncomfortable enough for the both of them.  
Sensing her discomfort, the girl quickly picked up her robe and donned it, “I’m sorry… I really thought that you might want me in return.”  
The assassin felt a stab of guilt, “That's not it… it's just,” she sighed. Her relationship with the girl was already way past formal, so she saw no reason not to be honest with her, “It's been a long time since I've been intimate with anyone. If the time ever comes where I'll actually want to be with someone in that way, I'd like it to be natural, not just something I'm doing to get information.”  
“I understand,” the girl said timidly as she stepped away. She turned quickly and made her way to the door before she paused, “How many weeks have you traveled to get here?” She asked suddenly in a tone that was still saddened.  
“It’s coming on five, perhaps six weeks now,” Dayala replied in a similarly quiet tone. She did nothing to hide the weariness in her voice.  
Milsetta nodded, “About five miles south of here, there’s a man who lives on the ground. If you follow the river, he lives nearby, on the west bank. I don’t know how he manages to live there, in the midst of everything we fear, but he does. He’s a healer; he arrived here maybe seven or eight years ago. He saved my life once,” the girl added and she reminisced, “I was really sick and everyone thought I was going to die. He gave me some medicine and I recovered. I wasn’t the only one either, he saved many of us. He travels here every few months, like Crick does, to trade his medicine for things like nut flour and other food. He brings food with him as well, things that I’ve never seen before. Other than that, I don’t know much about him. He wears a cowl, so I’ve never gotten a good look at his face, but my father trusts him.”  
Dayala pursed her lips, relieved to learn something about her target after so many failures, “Why didn’t your father tell me about him?”  
Milsetta shook her head, “I don’t know, but I think he was trying to protect him. Anyone who comes to the Sketton from the outside can only be trying to hide. My father told me that the healer is a powerful man, so if he’s trying to hide then surely the people looking for him are equally as powerful.”  
The assassin certainly couldn’t argue with the village leader’s logic. After all, he hadn’t been wrong. She was just the sort of person that Crowther was trying to defend against, and though it had frustrated her, she had nothing but respect for the man. If Milsetta had known her intentions, Dayala very much doubted that she would have told her what she had, but the assassin had no choice but to let the girl think what she wanted. “Thank you, Milsetta… very much,” she said with a smile.  
Milsetta nodded once. It looked as if she wanted to say more, but instead she headed out the doorway, “Goodnight Dayala,” she said regretfully.  
“Goodnight,” Dayala spoke aloud well after the girl had left.

The assassin spent the next several minutes thinking hard about her next move. If she let herself be escorted out of the forest, she would have a much better chance of getting home safely, but she hadn’t quite completed her mission. She would feel much more certain about her getting paid if she could pinpoint the exact location of her target, and five miles wasn’t such a long distance.   
She then wondered how she would be able to get down to the ground without anyone knowing; surely there would be someone watching the weighted lifts at all hours of the day. She was considering this when she heard a small sound outside of the doorway. Warily, she stood slowly and took up her hunting knife. When Milsetta had left, she’d left dejectedly and quietly, and it didn’t seem like she would try and return, so Dayala had to assume that it was someone else. Quietly, she made her way to the doorway and sidled up beside the wall to wait for whomever was outside.  
A tense second later, she saw the tip of an arrow slide through the curtains of the doorway, followed by the wooden shaft of an arrow. A second after that, she saw the fringes of a familiar looking red scarf as the figure made his way into the room. She had no time to think, so she reacted instead and brought down the butt of her knife onto her would be assailants head. The figure slumped with a grunt as their hand slipped and the arrow that they’d had readied bounced toward the ground and skittered to stop against the inside of the room.  
Dayala recognized the man immediately, “Ris,” she breathed as she stooped down to make sure he was still breathing. She’d hit him hard, harder than she might have if she’d had time to think about it, but it was too late to regret her actions.   
Ris groaned and Dayala moved quickly to a nearby tanning table. She took up several shocks of cord and began to bind him quickly. She knew that if it came down to a wrestling match, he was more likely to win than she was, so she opted to pacify him before the time came.  
A minute later, the hunter’s wrists and legs were bound tightly behind his body, and Dayala knelt beside the man and began to slap him lightly on the cheeks, “Wake,” she said lowly, hitting him harder when he didn’t respond.  
The hunter’s eyes opened slowly. At first, there was only confusion in his features, but it quickly turned to fear, then anger as he realized what had happened, “Bitch! You tied me up?! What will you do?! You have nowhere to…”  
Dayala struck the man’s hard with the back of her hand, effectively silencing him, “Silence yourself or I’ll be forced to do it for you,” she hissed. She grabbed the man’s feathered scarf and pulled on it, “Do you want me to rip this to shreds or can I expect some cooperation from you?”  
It seemed that the hunter had little concern for his own life, but her threat against his scarf worked better than she’d hoped, “Fine, yes… don’t…” he added desperately as she continued to pull upwards on the delicate article.  
She loosed her grip as her eyes narrowed, “Good. Tell me why you were trying to kill me,” she asked firmly, her tone once more even as she got a hold of her anger.  
“I wasn’t,” Ris breathed as he relaxed slightly. “I might have, but I needed to speak with you first.”  
Dayala furrowed her brow, “Why?”  
“I saw Milsetta enter here. You were alone with her for some time, then she left with tears in her eyes,” the hunter said angrily. “What did you do to her?”  
Dayala sighed through grit teeth, “I didn’t do anything to her, she came in here to seduce me and I turned her away.”  
“Liar! What makes you think I’d believe that?!” Ris shouted as he began to struggle. Dayala shook her head and took hold of the man’s ear lobe. With a hard jerk, she pulled on it roughly, which caused the man to cry out in pain.  
“You listen to me, or I’ll rip your ear off,” the assassin said calmly. “I speak the truth. I didn’t touch Milsetta, though she wanted me to. You must have seen the way she was looking at me yesterday; I did nothing to encourage her.”  
Ris’ eyes burned hotly into Dayala’s, “Let’s say I believe you. Why would she do such a thing?”  
Dayala debated for a moment whether she should tell the man the truth. She concluded that it probably wouldn’t matter either way, since he’d effectively made her decision about leaving for her, “She doesn’t want to marry you. Frankly, I don’t blame her. I don't know her well, but I'd say she's worth a fair bit more than killing a few birds. You may be able to marry her, but you can’t make her love you,” she said as she reached into her pack.  
Ris grimaced, “You don’t know anything about us or how we do things here.”  
“I know enough to know that the woman you love doesn’t love you in return. Or hell, maybe you don’t love her at all.”  
“I’m not talking about this with you,” the hunter hissed angrily.   
“That’s fine, I was done speaking with you as well,” Dayala said before she brought a bottle up to his nose. She’d brought several things with her, and already her odd assortment of concoctions had saved her life once.  
The hunter’s nostrils flared as he inhaled the contents of the bottle, “You fucking witch! I swear I’ll…” his eyelids grew suddenly heavy and his words slurred away into garble before he passed out.  
Dayala replaced the cork on the bottle and went to work immediately. She wasn’t sure why she’d come to the girl’s defense, but she rarely questioned her motives for doing things. Since she already knew where she was going, she had no use for the hunter, though he would prove to be troublesome when he inevitably escaped. There was a chance that Milsetta would come clean about what she’d done, but the assassin doubted it as she began to remove Ris’ strange gauntlets. She could think of no other way to get down to the surface, but she was confident that she would be able figure out how to use the unique gloves. As she donned them, she thought about what would happen if she stayed and tried to explain what had happened. She played through several scenarios in her head, but all of them ended badly for her. There was simply too much room for misunderstanding, and there was no way that she, a total stranger, would be able to win against the situation. She was concerned about what might lie down in the forest floor, but she was a swift runner, and she knew the direction in which she’d come. The village she was currently in wasn’t terribly far from where she’d come with Crick, and if she could verify the location of her target, she could make her way back to the outskirts of the Sketton before sun up. It was a risk, but it was hardly the riskiest endeavor she’d ever undertaken.  
“Beats the hell out of the alternative,” she said aloud lowly as she stared at the unconscious body of her former competitor. She still didn’t have any ill feelings towards the man, but their maturity differences were so vast that she hardly acknowledged him as someone worth getting upset with.  
Once she’d tied the gloves down on her forearms, she examined them closely. They were clearly made from some creature’s claws and hide, though she wouldn’t have been able to guess what kind. She approached the wall and tried the claw against its smooth surface. The small, hard burrs grabbed into the wood easily and provided a surprising amount of traction. She jumped and tried the claws a little higher up, pressing her hands against the wall as she tried to break her fall with her hands alone.  
“Interesting,” she breathed with a small smile. There was no chance that she’d be as good as the man she stole them from, but she was sure she could manage. She removed the gloves slowly and took stock of the things around her. The longer she waited, the harder it would be to leave without being noticed, but she would need to be as prepared as possible.

In the darkness, still several hours before daybreak, Dayala stood beside the start of a quiet bridge. She stepped over the edge to where the bridge was fastened to one of the massive trees before leaning forward and placing her hands upon the surface of the rough bark.  
“Fis et vil,” she whispered. A moment later, her eyes grew hazy before the colors of her retina changed to a deep yellow. Before she’d left the hut, she’d painted the marks of a simple night vision spell upon her temples. The runic spell always made her feel a little dizzy, but it was a small price to pay for the enhanced vision. The spell gathered and magnified ambient light, which caused her to see the world through a yellow lens. Slowly, she positioned herself against the tree and took a deep breath before starting her descent. She tried, as much as possible, to position herself like Ris had, but she was unprepared by how quickly she gained speed. More than once, she nearly lost her grip, and she knew that if she let go entirely she would fall to her death. A cold sweat broke out over her forehead as she forced herself to remain calm. She pressed her hands forcefully against the bark and dug her boots into the tough bark until she came to a complete stop. The bark itself wasn’t nearly as smooth as it appeared, and there were a few places here and there where she was able to dig the toes of her boots in and climb down slowly. She tried not to think about how much longer she had to go, but after what seemed like ten minutes, she realized that she’d barely made any progress.  
“This is taking too long,” she muttered as she tried to recall how exactly the hunter had used the gloves. She thought back to the day before when she’d watched him scrape his way down the bark. She realized then that she was trying too hard to gain control over her falling and that the only way she could make it work is if she relaxed her body and simply used her hands to control her speed. Not wanting to waste even more time than she already had, she found some footholds in the thick bark and repositioned her hands over her head. She’d spent half a lifetime climbing trees and mountains, long before she’d taken up residence in the city, but it went against all of her instincts to let her feet drag beneath her. She forced herself to move, however, and began her descent once more, this time leaning into the bark instead of trying to hug around it. To her surprise, she found that it was much easier to control not only her speed but her form as well, and within moments she was skidding down the vertical plane of the tree with nearly as much grace as Ris had.  
Finally, she stopped abruptly as she neared the ground. The base of the tree was clustered in all sorts of moss and odd fungus, and she kicked off the side of the tree to circumvent having to go through it. She wasn’t far from the ground, and she landed easily, though it took her a moment to regain her equilibrium.  
She looked around to gain her bearings before checking her equipment. The forest floor was even quieter in the early morning hours than it had been during the day, which disturbed Dayala more than any sound she could have heard. After removing the gloves and placing them in her pack, she strung her bow and readied her quiver before heading off in the direction of the river.

Five miles in any other forest would have been easy, but Dayala was quickly learning that the Sketton was like no other forest she’d ever been to.  
She traveled beside the river, which was reduced to a thin, sad creek that slugged between an impressive bank. The bank itself was also a sight that Dayala had never seen. It was was more tree than embankment, and huge, thick roots could be seen jutting out from it down toward the bottom of the river. She could tell by the signs of erosion that the river frequently swelled up, but she wondered if it was in fact, a river at all.  
While she was musing about whether or not the moving water flowed to the ocean, she heard a small skittering to her left side. Her mind snapped to attention as she glanced around. She’d been sticking to the river for more reasons than one, and one of the reasons was that she would be able to take shelter in or on the roots if a large creature attacked her.  
Calmly, she reached for an arrow and readied it. A moment later, the skittering continued, and a small, strange looking creature came climbing down from a nearby tree. Dayala studied it for a moment to try and glean as much information about it as she could in case it attacked her.  
The creature was only a little bigger than her head, with fur completely covering it’s body and a long, thin tail. It’s face most closely resembled that of a monkey, but it’s limbs were almost birdlike and sinewy. It’s eyes were big and shining, and Dayala could tell immediately that the creature could easily see in the dark far better than she could, even with her runic magic.  
It stared at her for a long moment before it crept downward. It was now directly above her, several feet high, and she watched it carefully as it continued to stare unblinkingly at her.  
Then, without warning and without making a sound, the creature leapt from the tree and plummeted toward her with outstretched claws. Dayala reacted fluidly, her hands and fingers moving without her even having to think. She raised her bow over her head and loosed into the attacking creature. The arrow pierced the small animal completely through, skewering it as it fell to the ground with little more than a low squeak.   
Dayala kicked the creature to make sure it was dead before tugging on the arrow to see if she could get it back. She grunted with distaste at both the smell of the animal and how well the arrow was lodged into it, and decided that she could do without it.  
Behind her, another skittering sound scraped close by, followed by one further above her and another to her right.  
Dayala frowned. It made sense that such a small animal would hunt in packs, and she’d have the disadvantage of being out in the open fighting against such numbers. She thought briefly about putting her back against one of the trees, but then, they could come at her from around the tree and above her. She glanced over at the bank before deciding it was her best option, then she ran quickly over to it. She leapt down onto one of the massive tree roots and readied another arrow.  
Three of the creatures made their way into view, followed by a fourth, then a fifth. The assassin traced their movements with her eyes as she lifted her bow and prepared to fire.  
Then she saw something odd that distracted her.  
At first, she thought it might have been in her head, but she saw a rune scrived into one of the trees directly in front of her. It was glowing dimly, it’s outline black and faded by the elements. She blinked in surprise, disbelieving her own eyes. It was a rune she recognized as well: the rune of Munet. It was a very simple twin rune that had limited function on it’s own, but could be combined with other runes to make effective, long distance signals. A user would draw the rune where they wished, then they would draw the matching rune somewhere else entirely, and when the original rune was triggered by whatever element it had been paired with, the receiving rune would glow. What disturbed her most about seeing it there was that it most likely meant that her presence had been detected, but currently she didn’t have any time to worry about that.  
She snapped her attention back to the creatures that were now advancing and cursed as she loosed an arrow into the closest of them. She’d lost valuable time by allowing herself to become distracted, and even as she drew another arrow she could see more of the small creatures skittering down the trees and moving towards her.  
Dayala moved further down the great tree root that she stood upon and positioned herself as well as she could. The river bed was now easily fifteen feet below her from where she stood. If she fell from such a height, it wouldn’t kill her, but the possibility of her breaking a bone or twisting her ankle were high, and if either of those things happened she knew she was as good as dead.  
She loosed into the next creature and it croaked as the projectile took it between its big round eyes. Before she left the tannery, Dayala had taken as many of the Skettonite arrows from Ris as she could fit in her quiver, and she used those before any of the others.  
Within a minute, three more of the creatures were dead, but still they advanced on steadily, their numbers now easily over a dozen. Dayala forced herself to concentrate on one target at a time and was determined not to let herself be flanked. All the while, she cursed inwardly, angry with herself for falling into such a precarious situation. For all she knew, there were hundreds of the little monkey creatures, and she would certainly run out of arrows before she killed half as many.  
Her mind raced as she killed another that was attempting to circle around her. They were such quiet, small things that Dayala feared she might not notice if they did manage to get around her. Her night vision was still active, but it only worked so well for distance viewing, and she still couldn’t see as well as she would have in broad daylight.  
All the while the rune in the distant tree glowed, and Dayala tried not to focus on it. Instead, she tried to think of a way her runes might help her out of the situation. It was during such times that the most frustrating aspect of runic magic manifested itself; she simply didn’t have enough time to prepare anything effective. Her mind went to the grollock as she killed two more of the creatures within seconds of each other. She remembered how she’d managed to scare the grollock with fire, but she didn’t have any way to make fire quickly. Even if she did, there was nothing around to burn, and the root that she stood on was so saturated that fire would never take to it.   
So Dayala did the next best thing she could think to do. She reached for a whistling arrow and readied it before launching it toward the glowing rune. The arrow whined past several of the creatures and stuck itself squarely into the rune, but the sound didn’t seem to attract or even phase her small attackers.  
“Shit,” Dayala sighed as she reached into her traveling cloak. She was short on ideas, and she pulled a piece of jerky from her pocket and threw it toward the creatures.  
A few of them turned toward the jerky and went for it quickly, while others continued to approach her.  
So I might be able to get out of this if I had a huge pile of meat to distract them with, she thought with a humorless smile as she looked for the easiest escape route. Her options were limited, and she went over them mentally within a moment as she loosed an arrow into another of the animals that had come dangerously close.  
She could stay and try to fight them off, but if they really did have more numbers than she had arrows, it would be over for her quickly. Her second option was to retreat now, but retreat to where? Certainly, if she headed back toward the Sketton, she might be noticed, and there was no telling how far the creatures would pursue her. She might receive help from the forest dwellers, but then, she might end up in an even worse position. As far as Crowther knew, she’d not only tried to seduce his daughter, but she’d knocked out, threatened and stolen from one of his best hunters who was soon to be his son in law. Either way seemed like a loss, so she decided that she’d have to run around the village and try to make it south on her own instinct.  
It was then that she noticed half a dozen of the creatures beginning to crawl around the root she was standing on and down into the river. She cursed loudly and fired into a group of them, pegging one on its way down. To her irritation and growing concern, the big eyed fur balls didn’t seem too concerned that their kin were being shot to death, if anything, it seemed to make them move toward her more quickly. She’d have to run if she had any chance of escaping, and she realized it within a moment.  
She began to move when she felt something at her feet. She shouted in protest as one of the creatures sank its claws into her shin. Somehow, the creature had managed to get beneath her, and she had no idea how many more of them might have managed to do so as she struggled to fight it off. She shook her leg and swiped down at it with a closed fist, trying to strike at its face as it began to thrash against her leg. Cursing, she drew her hunting knife and stabbed downward into the creature, sinking the blade into one of its eyes. The creature emitted a horrible shriek as it fell away from her, but she’d no sooner recovered her knife before another came up from beneath the root and ran toward her.  
Dayala sheathed her knife and ran. She realized that she should have run from the very beginning, but it was too late to commiserate on her error. She took four steps before setting her foot down on a particularly wet part of the root, and her foot slipped out from beneath her. With a shout, she tumbled forward and attempted to recover, but there was nothing for her to grab ahold of. She landed hard onto the root, smashing her right palm down to break her fall while her left hand clutched her bow. She cried out in pain as she felt her knuckles rapping against the semi-soft wood, and already one of the creature’s was directly behind her. She tried to stand quickly, but the large eyed animal was upon her within seconds. She turned onto her back struck out at it’s face blindly as she attempted to crawl backwards. In her yellow night vision, all she could see was a mat of fur and wildly gnashing teeth trying to get between her arms. She screamed as she felt it’s small teeth bite into her hand, and she tried to beat it back with her bow. She managed to rise to a sitting position and she reached forward with an enraged grunt as she grabbed at the creature and hurled it off of her. She fought to get to her feet before more of them came, but her vision began to blur and her tongue began to swell.  
No… she thought helplessly, They must have poison in them… this it it... this is the end.  
The thought itself didn’t bother her as much as she thought it should. It seemed, in that moment, that she was more upset about the fact that she was going to be eaten alive by a bunch of animals that were a fraction of her size. It would be a decidedly inglorious death, but then, no one’s death was ever as glorious as they wanted it to be, because death itself wasn’t a thing of glory. She laughed lowly as she tried to stand. “I should be more upset…” she murmured as she continued to chuckle. She managed to stand, but she found that her legs wouldn’t hold her, and she stumbled forward, nearly falling off the rounded edge of the root. She settled back, still clutching her bow as she drew her hunting knife. If she couldn’t move, then she would at least kill as many of them as she could before they devoured her. Her eyes grew heavy and the yellow of her runic vision began to fade as her lids were forced closed.  
Hopefully, the next one will be better, she thought with a fair bit of humor as she felt her consciousness slipping away, Assuming there even is a next one.  
Dayala accepted her fate and let herself fade as she heard the sound of wind blowing through a reed.  
Reeds? She thought blankly to herself in the deepest parts of her conscious mind. She hadn’t seen any reeds growing anywhere along the stream of water she’d been traveling beside. Nor had there been any wind. The sound became louder with every second that passed, until it felt so close that it was nearly on top of her. It wasn’t just the sound of reeds, it was something else, something with more form and deliberation.  
Music… its music, she explained to herself as she listened intently. It was a slow, melancholy sound that barely resembled a rhythm, but it was unmistakably a melody.  
Somewhere near her, she heard the sound of an animal screeching as something thumped into it. She could feel small, pittering vibrations on her back where the creatures were running towards her, but then, she realized that the vibrations were getting fainter and fainer.  
Although she’d subjected herself to death, Dayala was now too curious and concerned to let herself die from an unknown cause. With every iota of energy she had left, she willed her eyes to open. They did, but only barely, and only for a moment. What she saw in that moment however, chilled her to the bone before she slipped back into unconsciousness.  
There was a person wearing a heavy cloak heading toward her prostrate body, and he was holding a flute to his mouth.

In a realm entirely within her mind, Dayala raged. Terrible nightmares filled with hideous apparitions plagued her dreams in a mash of endless confusion. She reenacted conversations with people whom she hadn’t talked to in years, many of them long dead. Nothing was linear about the dreams she had, and good or bad they meshed into one another both randomly and without warning.  
The assassin could hear herself groaning and screaming and begging to be let go. Her body felt frigidly cold one moment, then horrendously hot the next. It seemed to her at one point that she must be in hell, though which level she’d acquired she had no idea.  
Whether she went on in this state for days or hours, she did not know, she only knew that eventually, the nightmares ended. Her temperature regulated as well and her mouth ceased to feel like it was stuffed with cotton. She became semi-conscious as something opened her mouth. A moment later, she felt the blessedly familiar trickle of cool water filling her mouth, and she drank as much of it as was given to her. Afterwards, she slept, seemingly forever, until she was once more awoken by the smell of food. Even as her mouth was salivating from hunger, she felt her lips being parted once again as a warm broth trickled into her mouth. It seemed that she could smell it better than she could taste it, but the sensation was enough to bring her some comfort, and she decided somewhere in her subconscious that she most likely wasn’t in hell if she was receiving a reprieve.  
Then, she slept once more and no dreams came.

Dayala heard a small, delicate scraping sound. She was about to open her eyes, but something told her to keep them closed. Instead, she continued to listen as she tried to figure out where she was. Her mind was beyond clouded, and it took her a full minute just to remember where she’d last been. It was then that she realized something else: she couldn’t move her arms or legs. A sudden panic nearly overtook her, but she seized control of her mind and forced herself to remain calm. Her location was less important than who she was with and what they intended to do with her, and she could assume that the person who had rescued her could only be the man whom she was contracted to locate. The thought itself filled her with more disappointment than dread, but he still couldn’t know entirely who she was or why she was there.   
“You’re awake.”   
Dayala heard the voice from somewhere in the room and it caused her heart to leap into her throat.  
“I apologize if I startled you, I heard the change in your breathing.”  
Dayala supposed there was no reason to try and pretend anymore, so she hesitantly opened her eyes.  
She saw nothing.  
Confusion was the first thing she felt, followed by shock, then fear. When the assassin opened her eyes, she saw the same sort of black she saw when they were closed. She lowered her eyelids quickly before opening her eyes once more and was met with the same result. Her mouth opened and she tried to speak, but no words came. Her fear nearly escalated to panic once more as she swallowed hard.  
“You’ve been temporarily blinded by the poison you took in. The muteness is due to the treatment I used to slow the poison, though that should pass as well at some point.”  
The man’s words did almost nothing to alleviate her. Out of five senses, she had been reduced to two, and she was completely defenseless.  
She felt a presence beside her suddenly, though she hadn’t heard the man approach, “I forgot to mention the temporary paralysis, another side effect of the treatment. I nearly stopped your blood trying to purge the poison; honestly, I wasn’t sure you were going to make it, but you’re as resilient as they come.”  
Dayala struggled to move her limbs for even an inkling of control, but they remained motionless.   
“I have no desire to draw this out, so let me be candid with you, for both our sakes.” The voice paused, “I examined you and all of your belongings very closely: I know what you are and I know why you’re here. I have to say that I’ve seldom seen a killer so unique. I daresay that your knowledge of runic magic far exceeds my own, as evidenced by the book I found in your pack. You’re bow is also quite unique, ash is it?” He chuckled once, “I don’t think there’s a single ash tree anywhere within a hundred mile radius.”  
Although Dayala couldn’t move, it seemed most of her nerves were still in working order, since she felt a sort of pressure on her wrist. Her savior, as it were, didn’t sound hostile, or even upset at her. If anything, he sounded rather apathetic and even impressed by her. Even so, her stomach knotted at his words. Everything she’d worked so hard to accomplish had come to a definitive end. Not receiving her payment for the completed job was the least of her worries, however, since she still had no idea why the man had saved her. For all she knew, he’d only saved her to torture her or to question her, and she could only hope that he wasn’t as sadistic as she wanted to assume he was.  
As if he’d read her thoughts, the man continued, “I’m guessing you’re wondering why I saved you, even after I knew that you were here to assassinate me. The answer is pretty simple, but there’s more to it than you might think. I have many questions for you of course, but there’s one question in particular that I’d like to prioritize on.”  
Dayala felt the man sit beside her. He was close now, nearly on top of her, and she tried to keep her breathing under control as he heard her speak lowly, “I have a bottle of poison in my hand. I can pour it down your throat at any time and you’ll be dead within minutes. Let me be clear on something: I don’t want to kill you, at least, not unless you give me a reason to. I’m going to ask my questions and you’re going to give me answers as best you can. I’ll try to make them yes or no questions. For yes, blink once. For no, blink twice. As of right now, you have almost no control over your body. You have very little control over your expressions, blood pressure, eye dilation, and so forth. I will know if you’re lying. I have no reason to bluff, as I said before, I don’t want either of us to waste our time on this. I will kill you if you try and lie to me. Do you understand?”  
Dayala pressed her lips together as a nauseous wave of dread came over her. Whoever he was, she knew that he was serious. She could tell by the pitch and inflection of his voice: he was not the sort of person who was unable to follow through with his threat.   
For the first time in her life she was totally and completely at the mercy of someone else. In the past, she’d always had at least a little control over any situation, but there was absolutely nothing she could do but comply. She felt like crying from frustration. She knew that she’d bit off more than she could chew, but she’d ignored all the warnings that had been given to her and had insisted on pressing ahead, and now she was reaping the consequences. Feeling angry and dejected, mostly by her own foolishness, she blinked once to let her captor know that she understood.  
“Good, let’s get right to it then. Are you currently working alone?”  
Even if Dayala was able to lie, she saw no reason to at that particular question. She blinked once.  
“I see. Did someone from the tree village tell you where I was?”  
She blinked once.  
“Not surprising, I suppose,” she heard the man muse. “Crowther?” He asked suddenly in an inquisitive tone.  
She blinked twice.  
“Someone else then. It doesn’t really matter who told you, I was just curious. Have you been traveling longer than a month to reach me?”  
One blink.  
“You’re from Lattia, then, or at least, you’ve contracted your job from Lattia.”  
Dayala’s curiosity was piqued. She wondered how he could possibly assume that she’d come from Lattia when there were so many other countries within the same traveling distance. Then, she realized that if he only had one set of enemies, he would probably know where they were based out of.  
“So, is it?”  
She’d forgotten that she hadn’t answered, and she blinked once.  
“Aha, good. So they’re still after me,” the man laughed hollowly. Dayala thought distantly that the man’s voice reminded her of smooth, black obsidian. If he was old, he certainly didn’t sound like he was, but there was an apathy present in his tone that only the elderly possessed.  
“I can hardly believe that I’m still considered a relevant target. Paranoia must be more powerful than I thought, clearly. So, the assassin’s guild contracted you to kill me?”  
The question caused Dayala to recall her last conversation with her guild contact, and it seemed strangely distant.

“So once I track him down, I’m assuming you want me to kill him?”  
“Actually, no.”  
Dayala’s brows knit, “No? You don’t want me to kill him?”  
Her guild contact shook his head, and for once he wasn’t smiling, “No, we don’t want you to kill him and we don’t want you to try. I can’t stress that enough.”  
“Do you mind explaining why?” Dayala asked with unmasked confusion.  
“This is difficult for me to explain, Asp,” the man paused as he began to balance a book on the tip of his finger. “I’ve seen you work and you’re good; one of the best I’ve ever seen, but this target is unique. I don’t mean this as a personal attack on your skill, but… I don’t think this is someone you can kill.” he leaned forward and put his free hand up, “Now, before you go and get offended, let me tell you that I myself wouldn’t go near this target. I would lose the fight. I think he would kill me if he was drunk and I was stone sober. In laymen’s terms, this is not the kind of man you wanna fuck with. Do you understand?”  
She wasn’t sure that she did. Apart of her was indeed offended, but she pushed past her pride easily and offered her opinion, “That may be so, but an arrow to the neck usually takes care of anyone, regardless of how skilled they are.”  
He nodded, “On most days, I’d agree with you, but this one’s different. That’s all you need to know. So you go over there and you find him, his exact location, and you map it. You bring that map back to us and you get paid. If you find him and you think you have a shot at him, you don’t take it. You don’t set any traps or plan some grand elaborate scheme. No runes or poison or darts or whatever shit you like to use . You find him and you leave him alone and you tell us where he is. I can’t make myself any clearer than that.”  
“You don’t need to.”  
“Good. Now, are you still interested?”  
She crossed her arms, “It’s a long way… a very long way.”  
“It’s a lot of money… a very lot of money,” the man chuckled.  
Dayala inhaled deeply. It was a lot of money.

Dayala blinked twice.  
“No?” her captor sounded genuinely surprised. “Why did they hire you then? To find me?”  
One blink.  
The man went silent for awhile before he spoke again, “I wonder how they acquired the information of my whereabouts in the first place. Did you have anything to do with that?”  
For the first time during her prostrate interrogation, Dayala wanted to lie. She thought better of it, however, and blinked once.  
“I see. Let me ask you another question, then. If you answer yes to this question I can’t guarantee that I won’t will kill you right this moment,” she felt him move closer to her, his face nearly parallel to her own. She could feel his breath on her, and it smelled like lavender and cloves, “Did you kill Aaron Sayder?”  
There was a peculiar edge in his voice as he asked the question, and his tone jarred her more than his threat to kill her. Dayala realized that it sounded strange to her because it was the first time she’d heard any real emotion from his voice, and she blinked twice quickly despite her desire to appear calm.  
“Very well, if you didn’t kill him, you must have gotten the information in a different manner,” the man sighed. “Did you hurt him?”  
Dayala remembered the night she’d spent with the antique dealer and swallowed hard as a bout of guilt rose up within her. She’d tried to suppress it as best she could, but it had been far heavier of a burden than she’d thought. She doubted that she would be able to lie about it even if she’d had total control over her body, and she prepared herself for the worst as she blinked once.  
She halfway expected to feel the cold rim of a glass bottle on her lips as she opened her eyelids, but instead she felt her interrogator draw back, “He’s a strong man, far stronger than he realizes. He wouldn’t talk so easily, not even if you tortured him. Did you beat him badly?”  
The assassin almost wished that she had. She blinked twice.  
The room went quiet for more than a solid minute, but Dayala could almost hear the man thinking. Finally, he broke the silence with a low realization, “You seduced him… didn’t you?”  
Hearing herself accused of what she already felt guilty about caused her grief to become even heavier. She’d never felt more vulnerable in her life, but it wasn’t because she was paralyzed or blind or mute. In a way, she’d done to the antique purveyor what had been done to her over half a century prior. She’d taken advantage of him in a way which she always told herself she never would, and even though she was a killer by trade, she’d transgressed her own personal code of ethics. She could feel a tear forming in the corner of her eye and she tried with everything inside of her to stop its flow as she blinked once.  
“You feel bad about it, hm?” She heard the man ask quietly. She couldn’t even feel the tears running down her cheek, but she could feel them escaping.  
“I feel bad about telling him where I was going,” the man said quietly. “I shouldn’t have… I had no right to drag him into it, but I had a moment of weakness and I wanted someone to know. It seems we both fucked up royally.”  
Dayala found the man’s statement both odd and painfully relatable in a way that was too inexplicable for her to reflect on.  
“Thank you… I got what I needed from you for now. You should sleep,” he chuckled humorlessly once more. “Hell, I should sleep too.”  
She heard him walk away quietly before he added, “If the nightmares start again, I’ll give you something to ease them.”  
Afterward, there was only silence, and Dayala wondered how she could possibly sleep under such circumstances. As turmoiled as her mind was however, her body was still weak, and she drifted off within mere moments.

“Ugh…” Dayala heard herself groan before she realized she was awake. Her head was pounding and her mouth was dry. On top of that, she felt a familiar burning in her lower abdomen and she sighed heavily as she opened her eyes. What she saw shocked her for a moment, until she remembered where she was and what sort of situation she was. Her vision had recovered somewhat, but she could only see blurry colors, and she was unable to make out the shape of anything.  
“You seem to be recovering quickly, that’s good,” she heard the man’s voice more clearly than she had before.  
She uttered a small sigh as her voice came out in barely a whisper, “Water… please.”  
“Please? You’re so polite,” he laughed lowly.   
A moment later, she felt a spoon being lifted to her lips and she parted them slightly.  
“Easy, drink it slowly,” she heard him say as she swallowed the cool liquid.  
It was only when she started drinking when she realized that she’d recovered her voice, at least partially. The realization was pushed out of the way however, by the pressure is her stomach, and she sighed heavily once she’d finished drinking.  
“Gotta piss?”  
The words caused her to set her jaw in both irritation and embarrassment.  
“Don’t forget, you still have very little control over your body; it’s not hard for me to tell what you need and your expression says it all.”  
She felt herself being pulled upward slowly and she wanted to protest, but she was far too weak.  
“I’m taking you outside, you can do your business in private and I’ll help you back in.” She felt herself being lifted to her feet, “Try your legs.”  
Once she was upright she set her feet down on the floor and did as she was told. She was surprised by how much she could support her own weight, but she was still unable to walk on her own.  
“I’m impressed by how quickly you’re recovering, I guess that elven blood affects more than just your looks” he said evenly as he helped her walk along.  
Dayala made note of his comment and closed her eyes, since her vision wasn’t doing anything for her at the moment. Of course he would know by now that she was a halfling. She had to assume that he knew everything important about her, but there was nothing she could do but rely on him for the time being Regardless, she had no intention of letting herself be used in any way. If he wanted to hurt her, he would have done it already, unless he was some sort of sadist. She hadn’t ruled the idea out, but she figured she could only cross that bridge when she arrived.   
She felt the temperature change as they stepped outside. She allowed herself to be carried some ways before she felt his hands on her wrists, “Here, I’m placing your hands on this tree so you can lean against it.”  
She felt the tree and nodded, though her movements were rigid. She hated being treated like a child, and the fact that she needed help relieving herself frustrated her to nearly the point of tears.  
“Listen, I can tell you’re uncomfortable and I don’t blame you. This beats going in a bedpan, and you’ve already done that twice while you were unconscious. You’re wearing a makeshift loincloth under your clothes, which are also mine by the way. I’m untying it,” he said as she felt him reach up the long tunic she was wearing. Her skin prickled and she wanted to scream, but there was nothing sexual about his movements as she felt his hand working at the knot, “There. I’ll replace it when I get back in a few minutes. Is three minutes enough time or will you be needing more?”  
Dayala shook her head in disdain.  
“Fine, three minutes.” He said as she heard him walk away.  
She had no idea if he was really gone or not, but then she realized that it hardly mattered.

Sometime later, Dayala was back inside, wherever inside was, and was lying down on the bed. She listened to the sounds of her host rustling about here and there, but he said nothing to her for nearly half an hour. She had been sleeping for what felt like days, and though her body was still tired her mind was very much awake. She strained to hear and smell anything that could be helpful to her, but she wasn’t able to come up with much. The only real notable thing was the fact that she smelled many different times of herbs and spices and other pungent plants, which led her to believe that her captor was either a healer or someone versed in toxicology.  
Or both. She thought morosely. It made sense that if he was able to heal the people of the Sketton than he would have at least a little knowledge of poisons.  
Her thoughts were broken by the smell of a pungent tea, something minty.  
“You should drink some of this, it will help you get your vision back,” she heard the man say as she felt his weight beside her.  
Dayala didn’t protest, but simply opened her mouth slightly. She felt the lukewarm liquid a moment later, and she swallowed it slowly. She couldn’t taste it very well, but the temperature was comforting, and whatever sort of minty ingredient that was inside of it was making her mouth tingle.  
“Good,” he said after she’d drunk a bit.   
Dayala felt him rise and she mouthed, “Why?”  
“Hm?” She heard the man pause before he answered, “Why am I doing this?”  
She blinked once.  
“Ah. Well, I suppose I’m doing it for several reasons. The biggest reason would have to be that I believe you to be misinformed. You’re trying to aid in my death, but you don’t even know why. Secondly, It’s been a long time since I’ve stepped foot outside of the Sketton and I’d like to know what’s going on in the outside world. Thirdly, those creatures that attacked you can quickly develop a taste for human flesh, and I didn’t want them swarming on the village. It’s been awhile since their last attempt, and it’s taken me a good amount of time to show the animals of the Sketton that I wear the bigger boots. Fourthly… I feel that recently I’ve been skirting the edges of madness, and talking to another person may pull me back a little.”  
Dayala was intrigued by the relatively lengthy list of reasons, especially the last one. It seemed to her that the last point he’d made wasn’t necessarily something she would have divulged to a potential enemy, but her host didn’t seem to have any such fears regarding her.  
“We’ll speak about everything,” he added a little while later. “I’d like you to regain your senses; it’s not efficient or convenient for us to communicate this way. When you can take a walk, see and take a piss without my help, we’ll talk. Sound fair?”  
She blinked once.  
“Very well. For now, I’ll make up something to eat. Since you can’t move, you can stay put and ponder things.”

The meal was a strange event for Dayala, but in the end, she’d allowed herself to be hand fed without complaint. She thought that she might be awake all day, but as soon as she’d eaten, she drifted back to sleep.  
Nearly two days passed in the same manner. On the first, Dayala had been barely strong enough to relieve herself without aid, but she’d managed. On the second, she was strong enough to feed herself, but her vision still hadn’t returned. Her mysterious host said very little to her the entire time. What conversation he did make was mostly related to her sustenance, and true to his word he didn’t bring up anything related to her mission.  
It wasn’t until the third day that she awoke to a garish brightness. Her eyes adjusted slowly and painfully as light flooded into her retinas, and after several moments she realized that she could make out the ceiling. The light seemed to be coming from candles instead of mushrooms, and as she turned her head to look around she realized something with a start.  
She was tied down to the bed.  
Panic swam up into her throat as she tried to move her arms and legs. Her ankles were strapped together, as were her wrists. Her fingers too, had been wrapped with some sort of cord, and were firmly tied down to her thumbs. The wrap was tight, but not painful, and she guessed that was why she’d hadn’t been woken up.  
Fourth day’s the charm,” she heard the man’s voice come from some corner of the room.  
She ceased her short struggle and went limp, “Why have you tied me?” She demanded. Her voice was still soft and distant, but her tone was unmistakable.  
“I tied you to protect you. You’re strong enough to walk now, at least a little. If I’m not mistaken, you’ve also gotten your vision back, which means that you’re several times more dangerous than you were yesterday. Dangerous for me… and dangerous for you.”  
Dayala grunted, unable to hold her temper at bay, “I won’t try anything… how stupid do you think I am?” She couldn’t see him from where she was lying, and she tried to shift her body. It seemed that she was strapped down even further, and she was only able to shift her body a little.  
“Honestly, I don’t know. We haven’t exactly gotten the chance to chat properly.”  
She resigned herself to the situation temporarily, but she was still plenty irritated, “Fine. How long do you plan to keep me this way?”  
She heard him pad over to her and a moment later he was right beside her, just out of her field of vision, “You’re an audacious woman, aren’t you?” He sounded amused, though there was an edge in his tone. “You came here to kill me, even if not directly. You tracked me down for money and you fucked up and I saved you from those creatures and you want to know how long I’m going to keep you tied up for?”  
She blinked, “Yes. There’s no reason for it.”  
“There are plenty of reasons for it, not the least of which being that you might try to run away. I’m not enjoying this, woman, I’m simply trying to keep you from breaking your own neck or getting eaten. Hell, I’m trying to keep you from breaking my neck, as well. A more rational man would have killed you already, so calm down and let’s have a discussion like civilized killers.  
Dayala heard his words and wanted to argue, but she realized that she probably would have done the same thing in his place, “Fine… but I’m thirsty and I have to piss. Can I at least do that?”  
The man snorted and chuckled, “Yes, but I’ll take you outside.”  
She grimaced, “Fine,” she said again, though it was clear by her inflection that she wasn't fine with the idea at all.   
Her captor stepped into her line of vision and began to untie her. She tried to look at him, but he was facing away from her and untying the ropes that held her legs. Before she could see his face, he stepped back.  
“I'm only going to say this once, so listen well. I’m sure that you fully comprehend the situation you're in and I'm fairly glad that our roles aren't reversed. That being said, you might get it in your head that you can escape. Don't try it. Any direction you run in, for as long as you're able to run, will end up in your death. You'll be ripped to shreds and eaten, mauled and then eaten, or you'll find quicksand and die very slowly. Another thing: don't try to kill me. As tempting as it may be to try and end my life and possibly collect whatever fantasy payment you've been promised, I can assure you that you will lose. This isn't arrogance on my part; I'm telling you this for your sake. You can't poison me, I'm immune to most anything you currently have access to. Some of your runes might work on me, if you're creative enough, but you don't have the materials to draw them… Unless you use your own blood, in which case, you’d better not since you need all the blood you can get right now. You can try to attack me directly or set some sort of trap, but you'll be too slow, especially in the state you're in. Don’t forget, I know why you're here and I still chose to revive you. I'm not planning on holding that over your head, but it was a hell of a lot of time and work on my part and my garden is suffering because of it,” he chuckled. “Moreover, I don't want to sink a blade into your throat after all the effort I put into you, so don't force me to, that's what it really comes down to.”  
She heard him moving over her and a moment later she was looking directly into his eyes, “Do you understand?”  
Dayala’s eyes widened slightly. His pupils were stark purple, like the color of amethyst, and they were so arresting that she hardly noticed the rest of his face, “I understand,” she breathed as her eyes slowly took in the rest of his features. She blinked as her captor moved his attention to her wrists.   
“I’m relieved that you do,” he said as he untied her arms, “But even so, as a precaution, I’m keeping you tied up until I feel that you're ready. If you don't like it, which I'm sure I wouldn't, that's tough shit, woman.”  
Dayala barely heard him as she looked him over. His hair was shoulder length and the oddest color of blue gray. The color of his hair, however, was of little concern to her as she looked at the side of his face. His skin was gray. It wasn't pale white or sickly looking, it was actually ashen gray.   
“What's your name? I can't keep calling you woman, it’s rude.” He turned his head as he added, “When you're done staring at me you can answer, unless you'd rather me not know.”  
“Dayala,” she replied without thinking before she realized two things simultaneously. The first was that she hadn't realized how intently she was looking at him, and the second was that she'd given him her real name. She hadn't given out her true name to anyone for longer than she could remember. She wasn't sure why, exactly, she'd always told herself it was simply for the purposes of remaining anonymous. Her surrogate father had told her that names had great power, and that she should be careful in giving hers out. When she was grown, Dayala had largely written off such ideas as superstition, but she couldn't bring herself to freely hand out her name. “Dayala,” the man repeated back to her with a small smile. “Good name.”  
She averted her eyes with a mixture of embarrassment and slight confusion, “You’re name?”  
He stopped untying her knots and looked at her, “My name?” He bit his lip, “Hnh, took me long enough to remember it. Kearn… Kearn,” he repeated it, almost as if he were trying to get the pronunciation right. “People used to call me Willow, I guess my professional title was the Gray Willow… creative, right?” He smirked. “Wonder how they came up with that one.”  
Dayala inhaled deeply as she tried to maintain her composure. She must not have had as much control over her expressions as she thought, because he gave an amused snort.  
“Ringing a bell?”  
She said nothing. If the man before her was the same man she was thinking of, that would make him at least a hundred years old, if not older. She still hadn’t been able to make out his features clearly, due to her proximity to him and limited light, but he didn’t look much older than his mid thirties, assuming of course, that he was even human to begin with.   
“Before you ask, either with your mouth or your eyes, yes, I'm the same one from before.” He gave her a curious look, “Have we met? You must be at least fifty years old.”  
“No… We've never met,” she replied hollowly, still trying to wrap her mind around what was happening. “I'm almost ninety...I believe.”  
“Lost track?” He chuckled as he grabbed her bound wrists and pulled her up, “Me too.”

Several minutes later, she’d done what she needed to do at the usual spot and the man named Kearn came returned to redress her. It had happened enough times already to where it was almost a routine, but Dayala was irritated by the fact that he still wished to chaperone her in her capable state. She understood why he was doing it, but that did little to alleviate her. As he replaced her loincloth beneath the long tunic, she thought about the man. She’d heard his name, of course. In fact, there was probably not a soul in any warring country that hadn’t. The name of the man called gray willow had swept throughout the entire continent decades prior; allegedly he was the assassin who killed the emperor and effectively ended theocracy for the entire province. One might even say that he was, whether directly or indirectly, responsible for the changing of the era. As usual, the stories that were told surrounding the incident became more and more exaggerated the more they were circulated, and naturally he’d gone from a reputable killer to a godlike legend.   
Dayala had plenty of reservations, of course. He didn’t seem like the kind of mythical man that he was made out to be, but he was certainly peculiar. It was clear to her that he was competent, both physically and mentally, and the quiet confidence that he exuded was more of a tip off to his age than anything he’d said thus far.  
As usual, he dressed her without comment. The fact that he hadn’t done anything even remotely lecherous to her wasn’t lost on Dayala, but she still didn’t trust him.  
He’d unbound her legs just enough for her to take small steps, and she allowed herself to be led back to the house. As they approached, she was finally able to see the outside. There was a fence built around several plots in the front of the home and various plants could be seen pushing their way out of the ground in different stages of growth.  
“There’s cabbage coming in soon, and I’m about three days away from a nice set of carrots,” he commented dryly.  
As much as she didn’t want to be impressed, Dayala was. The ground that she’d seen thus far was hard and packed, and the fact that he was able to grow any plants at all in such dense, washed out clay was nothing short of a miracle.  
“I brought a lot of seeds with me when I first came here… many, many seeds. I knew they wouldn’t grow in such horrible soil, and I didn’t want to waste them, so I went to work right way. It took me nearly a year to get this soil to yield to me. I carried buckets of sifted minerals from the river and scattered them everywhere. I burned wood for potash and turned and dug and dug and turned like a possessed farmer,” he chuckled lowly as he walked behind her. “Finally, I was able to to grow some onions... they were awful. Still, I kept at it, and eventually I suppose the forest thought I’d suffered enough.”  
Dayala said nothing as she turned her head here and there. The garden was well sized and was large enough to easily feed a dozen a people.  
She turned her attention to the house itself and studied it intently. At first, she thought that it was built directly in front of a particularly large tree, but then she realized that the house was built into the tree itself. A few furnishings stood in front of the hewn doorway, but otherwise it was unadorned.  
“The villagers here taught me how to burn into the wood; they’re very clever when they need to be. I lived with them for a few months before finding this place and I carved into the tree over the course of a year.”  
Dayala’s curiosity won over her suspicion, “You camped here? On the ground?”  
“Some nights, yes. I have basic knowledge of runes, as you experienced, and I would place them here and there and have them alert me if anything came near.”  
The assassin was incredulous, and she did nothing to hide it in her tone, soft as it was, “And they don’t attack you or your garden?”  
“Not anymore they don’t.”  
His reply didn’t sound angry, but there was a trenchant edge to it that almost made her shudder.  
They arrived at the doorway and he reached forward and held aside the thick fur that acted as the door, “Ladies first.”  
His sarcasm wasn’t lost on her, and as she stepped through the doorway she grimaced.

A bit to her surprise, she was offered a chair upon reentering the house. It was a plain chair, made entirely out of wood, but it was comfortable enough. After sitting, she looked around freely and was once more impressed. Herbs hung everywhere from the ceiling in different stages of drying, and they were clearly separated by type. Deep cutouts that had been burned into the sides of the walls acted as tables, and upon them she could see various wooden containers of all shapes and sizes. Upon the table where he must have have made his concoctions, there was a pestle and mortar, and upon a separate table there was an assortment of wooden and stone utensils.  
“I have no art, but it’s livable,” he said as he pulled up a dried out stump and sat upon it adjacent to her.  
She glanced at him, trying to get a better look at his features but not wanting to be too obvious about it, “It’s surprisingly clean.” Her voice was still little more than a whisper, but she could speak clearly enough to be understood.  
“For a bachelor’s home in the most dangerous forest in the known world, yes, I suppose it is.”  
Dayala took in bits of his features in furtive looks between eying the inside of the home. There was a bit of stubble on his chin and his face, but otherwise, he had no facial hair. Apart from his eyes, his most notable features were his high cheek bones. His ears, like hers, were slightly pointed. Apart from the fact that his skin was entirely gray in color, he looked like an average man, albeit a strangely handsome one, much to her chagrin.  
“You have questions,” she said as a statement. “If you are to keep me bound until you’re thoroughly satisfied of my sanity, I’d like to get this process started.”  
He kept a straight face, but his eyes were amused, “Right to the point kind of gal, aren’t you?”  
She locked eyes with him, “Yes.”  
He chuckled, “Very well, let’s speak candidly, as only I am able to. Why don’t we start with things we’ve been over already. we’ll make it fair. I’ll ask a question, then you ask a question. We have all the time in the world.”  
She frowned at him with obvious disbelief, “You’ll answer my questions?”  
“I will, assuming you answer mine,” he hunched down on the stump and pawed his chin, “You seem like a no bullshit kind of woman, and I can appreciate that. let’s put this right out there and not fuck around with it: without my help, you won’t get out of this forest alive. Even if you do by some great feat of skill and luck, the people you’re working for won’t pay you for a job well done… they’ll kill you.”  
She thought that perhaps he was trying to deceive her, or tell her something that would throw her off, but she refused to let herself be turned so easily. Her eyes narrowed, “You’ll probably kill me when you’ve learned what you want to know.”  
He shrugged, “I have no reason to unless you make a move on me. Think about this: you came to me. Unwanted. Unbeknownst. I had no idea you were coming, therefore there was nothing that I needed, or now need, to know. Any information I desire to glean from you is purely for the sake of feeding my own curiosity, nothing more. What else do I have to gain from this venture other than the entertainment of your company? I understand why you would assume that I’ll kill you, but why wouldn't I have done that already?”  
Dayala raised her eyebrow and sighed, “Part of me wishes you had… the other part wants to know why you kept me alive.”  
He cocked his head, “I already gave you my reasons.”  
She looked at him tiredly. She hadn't given up, she simply didn't have the mental energy to act tough. Try as she might, she couldn't tell if the man in front of her was lying or not. She'd already considered so many options in her head. Just as he'd mentioned, she'd thought of her runes and how she might use them to free herself. But then, where would she go? The accusation he'd made against the assassin's guild didn't surprise her in the least, but she wasn't about to willingly let herself fall into a trap. She knew that she wasn't at a total disadvantage, she still had the ability and the freedom to speak, and she had to admit to herself that her captor had been reasonable so far. “I remember your reasons, but I don't appreciate the idea of being your toy. Honestly… I’d rather you just kill me.”  
He studied her for a moment, “At the risk of sounding like I'm defending myself, I think I did pretty damn good.” He looked at her intently, “You’re no toy, or, if you are, you’re quite a dangerous one. In any case, It's been twelve years since I've slept with a woman. I fled here to escape a countrywide manhunt, and I've been largely isolated ever since. So one day, I'm walking along collecting my usual assortment of forest refuse when all the sudden my amulet starts humming. I go to investigate and what do I see but this insane woman who is fighting off a group of barkills, that's what the villagers call them, and failing. I play my flute, scare most of them off, kill a few others and a minute later I see her in a heap on the ground: this woman… all fucked up and close to death. I knew why you were there...It was so obvious. So yes, perhaps I may have made a hasty decision in saving you and I may have had secret, ulterior motives, but I knew the truth. The only person from the outside of the Sketton who shows up here is here for my head,” he smiled slightly.  
“Dayala took a deep breath, “How did you know?”  
“Oh, I saw you shoot. When I got you back here, I examined you very closely,” He chuckled, “I suppose that sounds wrong. No, as much as I might have been tempted, I undressed you, bathed you and put new clothes on you all without ogling you...Do you know why?”  
She gave him a blank look, unsure of whether he was actually expecting an answer, “No… Why?”  
“Because, if I cross that bridge… I'll lose whatever pieces of my sanity that I have left.”  
She swept her eyes over him. There was one thing that she hadn't strongly considered: perhaps he we telling the truth. “So when you examined me, what did you find?” She asked with a small, almost humorless smile.  
“Many things,” he averted his eyes for a moment. “You’re probably the third most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, but there’s a whole lot more to you that.”  
She couldn’t help but give him a curious look as her eyes narrowed slightly, “The third most beautiful?” For the first time since she’d been captured, she laughed lowly, “Aren’t you a flatterer,” she said sarcastically with a tired smile. If nothing else, the man adjacent to her was intriguing, and she was beginning to find that he was just a little off. “Very well, I suppose third is better than fourth, and who really wants to be first? I’m not vain enough to care,” she stopped laughing and blinked, “So, really, how could you tell that I was here to kill you?”  
He was watching her the entire time she was laughing, and it was clear that he was entertained, “Apart from watching you shoot, there’s the matter of your body itself,” he paused as he glanced at her bound wrists, “You’re like a fucking god… those forearms, the slender, strong fingers, the contours of your wrists and the divots permanently embedded into your hands from where the cord digs into your flesh. People aren’t born like that, and most hunters never have a reason to develop their skills to that point...or they don’t have long enough of a lifespan. You have trained so much that any piece of wood attached to a string that you pick up becomes a weapon of deadly precision. How many arrows have passed through those hands, I wonder?” He looked up at her, “The contents of your bag, of course, helped me greatly, but there are other things about you. The color of your skin, while fair, has seen its share of sunlight, but your ears are white as snow. You keep them covered because you don’t want people to know that you’re a halfer. As you can see, it’s not so easy for me to hide… unless I want to paint myself.”  
“Hm,” was all she could manage to say. She wasn’t sure whether or not he was trying to flatter her, but by the tone of his voice it seemed like he was simply being matter of fact. “Would you have killed me if I were a man?”  
“Probably not. I don't think the situation would be much different, minus me finding you attractive. Either way, I’ll need to make plans to move soon.”  
“Why?”  
“Well, your presence is an indication that I’m not as safe here as I thought. It seems that my enemy won't stop until he knows that I'm dead. Maybe not soon, but soon enough, they'll find me here if they already know to look in the Sketton. You did,” he looked her over, “Sort of. That leaves us here, with you tied up and me wondering what in the hell I'm supposed to do with you. If I let you go, you’ll die. You won’t fully recover for weeks yet; if you had your full strength than you might be able to make it out of the Sketton, but then you would probably go straight back to Lattia and tell them what you’ve learned… then you’d die.”  
While the man imprisoning her hadn’t been terribly cryptic about his meaning, Dayala wanted him to get to the point, “You’re assuming that I would return and I don’t see how you could possibly know that I will. Explain. If you would,” she added, remembering the position she was in. “You seem certain that they plan to double cross me; I'm sure you have your reasons, but so far I have no reason to believe that they would.”  
Kearn nodded, “Fair point. I did a few jobs for the guild… maybe more than just a few. I was always paid adequately, but as the pay became higher the risk intensified.” He folded his hands, “Honestly, I’m surprised you haven’t asked about the emperor.”  
She pursed her lips, “Fine, I’ll bite. Did you kill him like everyone says you did?”  
“I did,” he answered promptly, as if he were admitting to something casual. “But it wasn’t my idea. Personally, I did it for money and for the challenge of it, but I wasn’t hired by the enemy.”  
Dayala had always had her own suspicions about the council, and hearing such talk about who killed who didn’t surprise her in the least, “What are you getting at? Are you saying that the council had their own emperor killed so they could start a democracy?”  
Kearn grinned, “Oh, you say it like you’ve considered it before.”  
His sarcasm wasn’t lost on her, “It’s a popular theory, but no one dug into it because it was too dangerous and there was nothing to be gained from it. The council isn’t much different from the dead emperor anyway, so most people could have cared less; they were all just glad the war ended.” Her eyes flitted up to his, “Why should I believe you?”  
“Believe what you like, but why would I lie to you?”  
She studied him for a moment, “Very well, so the council ran a coup against Raleigh the fourth and took over an entire nation almost overnight. What has that got to do with you other than you being the dirty knife, so to speak.”  
“Good question. The answer is simple enough: Monarch Sebille didn’t think I could keep a secret.”  
Dayala winced. She’d always assumed that the council had collectively overthrown the late emperor, and to hear otherwise was slightly jarring, “Sebille? Was anyone else involved?”  
“The assassin’s guild higher ups and yours truly,” Kearn shrugged, “So my professional integrity was thought to be lacking by a very shaken up Monarch. He wanted to silence me to tie up loose ends, but apparently I had gained such a terrible, or great, depending on how you want to look at it, reputation that no one wanted to take the job.” Kearn leaned back and laughed, “The old gray willow… nary a soul would draw blade or bow against me. It’s incredible how much notoriety a person can gain just by killing people and making sure other people know about it,” he glanced at Dayala suddenly, “How many people have you killed?”  
The suddenness of the question didn’t surprise her nearly as much as how long it took her to find the answer, “For money, fifty seven. All men.”  
“And for free?” He asked with wanton curiosity.  
The assassin hated the fact that his purple gaze caused her so much hesitation, “Just one.”  
“I see. None of my business anyhow… I apologize for the digression.”  
Dayala heard him distantly as she remembered the very first man she’d killed. She hadn’t thought about him in years, but even now, decades later, she still felt no regret. “How many people have you killed?” She wondered out loud. She only realized that she’d actually spoken the question when it was already out.  
Kearn looked puzzled for a moment, then thoughtful, “Well… I don’t know to be completely honest with you. I lost track after a hundred, and during the war I killed more men than I could possibly recall. Directly, probably hundreds. Indirectly?” He shrugged, “Who knows, maybe thousands.”  
She examined him openly, looking over his features in an attempt to understand him. His words weren’t steeped in regret, nor did he seem happy about it. Instead, he looked and sounded totally apathetic. “Are you really as good as they say you are?”  
He chuckled humorlessly, “I don't know. When I first started doing this, I was an assassin like you, or maybe assassin is to glorious of a title. I was wet works for a few gangs for the first few decades of my life. I was just a kid, and I couldn't get a real job with this face, so I thought, what the hell, if everyone expects me to be some sort of killer then why not live up to their expectation?” He rolled his eyes over to her, “I'm sorry, this isn't what you asked, I've already answered the question, haven't I?”  
Dayala stretched, “No, I'm interested if you want to finish,” she smiled dryly, “But make it fast, I've got a really pressing appointment.”  
Kearn laughed as he stood, “I'll make some tea.” He walked past her and she heard him as he began to build a fire, “Anyway, there's not much more to tell. I got lucky, that's all. I discovered that I was good at killing people in the same way I imagine you did. At first, it was survival, but like usual, once a person has what they need they inevitably go for the things they want. During the war, I became a mercenary for hire, and it was the oddest thing,” she heard the sound of water being poured into a clay pot, “I was getting paid to work for a group of people of whose ranks I had already killed dozens of; the empire's soldiers. They knew who I was, but they also knew better than to get in my way, and most of them were just glad that I was on their side. I experienced field combat for the first time and I almost bit the dust,” she heard him snap a few leaves off from the dried hanging plants. “I fell into the swing of it though. I trained probably more than I actually fought, and when I did fight I never had time to think. Did you fight in the war, Dayala?” He asked suddenly.   
She shook her head, assuming that he'd be able to see her response.   
“That's good. You didn't miss anything, unless you enjoy mountains of bodies being set aflame. After a big fight, we'd always have to burn the bodies. If we didn't, then they would rot and cause sickness, not to mention the creatures they invited upon our camps. It was strange to see the bodies burning, mostly because I had killed at least a few of the poor saps in the pile, but I could never recognize any of them. No, when I ran in between their ranks, all I could remember was the need to move. I picked up on that right away: the people who died were always the people who stood their ground.”  
Dayala smelled the mint tea as it steeped and listened intently.   
“It's funny, but they always whispered about me, said that I had no honor and the way I fight is cheap and dirty,” he chuckled, “But then, I’m alive and most of them died… with their honor allegedly. Eventually, my higher ups kept issuing me more and more of the kind of work I was used to, the dishonorable kind, and ironically enough I ended up doing wet work all over again. It started out slow, but they realized how effective it was to take out key targets, and soon I was sneaking into enemy camps and slitting the throats of generals and knights. Didn’t make any difference to me, but it was the path that eventually led me to Raleigh. Long story short, I killed Raleigh and got paid more money than I knew what to do with. For the first time in my life, I had the ability to buy whatever I wanted, but I soon discovered that it hardly made a difference.” He sneered as he took a sip of his tea, “I’m not telling you anything you don’t know, but social status can’t be bought. People were more inclined to give me what I wanted, but the riches didn’t get me as far as I’d hoped. I retired for years and wandered everywhere. I spent most of my money on brothels and booze, but eventually I got tired of that too. All the while, Sebille was watching me. I knew that he was, but I also knew that he didn’t have the balls to come for me himself, and even after it was clear that I had no interest in spilling his proverbial beans, I think paranoia consumed him.”  
Dayala took a sip of her tea and was surprised by how flavorful it was, “Spearmint and Cristow blackleaf,” she let the flavor linger on her tongue, “And something else.”  
“Red thyme; gives it that little something extra and it’s good for the throat,” Kearn said in appreciation as he nodded to her.  
“I apologize for interrupting,” she blinked. “So what did Sebille do?”  
“At the time, I thought he wasn’t going to do anything. I was stupid and cocky… and bored. More time passed and eventually I became so bored that the thought of coming out of retirement sounded like a vacation. I approached the guild for work and they delivered. They told me that they had a job that had been pending for months, but no one wanted to take it. The reward was almost as much as I’d been paid to kill the late emperor, but I wasn’t looking for more gold. It was very much like the job that you took on…” he gave her a hard look, though he was smiling slightly, “How much information did they give you about your client?”  
Dayala’s face flattened, “None,” she had to admit.  
“And how much information did they give you about your target?”  
Her eyes narrowed, “Not much… all they told me is that you shouldn’t be fucked with.”  
“Hm, so they’re still that afraid of me? Interesting. Would you have taken the job if they’d thrown out my name?”  
She looked over his features once more. It was clear to her that he wasn’t looking for compliments or something to boost his ego, but he was fishing for something, “I might have, yes.”  
“I see. So you took on a job with almost no information about the the client or the target to the most dangerous forest in the known world… why?”  
“They offered me a lot of money,” she said flatly.  
“Bullshit,” Kearn laughed, “You didn’t come for the money.”  
“I did,” Dayala’s winced in irritation. She wondered suddenly why his statement upset her so much, but she was hardly in a position to start a fight.   
“You believe what you want. Either way, if you do succeed and they get the information they want, they'll kill you just to tie up loose ends.”  
The assassin was beginning to feel angry. At Kearn, at the guild, but mostly at herself. She hated the fact that what she was being told made sense, but the fact that it didn't surprise her only proved to her that she had made a mistake from the beginning. Her suspicions had proved correct, but for some stupid reason she'd ignored her misgivings. She took a deep breath and shook her head, “I made a mistake,” she said quietly as she closed her eyes. “I'm angry and tired… may I go back to sleep?”  
He nodded, “Surely.” He stood and removed the cup from in-between her wrists before he began to wrap them up again, “You won't feel strong for days yet, we really shouldn't be pushing you so hard.”  
Dayala didn't struggle as he tied her, “How long will you keep me like this?” Her voice was beginning to sound more hollow, and she was feeling exhausted all at once.   
“I told you, that's up to you. For now, you should take it one day at a time,” he said as he lifted her. She was almost as tall as he was, but he carried her easily to the cot and set her down, “Hunger will probably wake you up in a few hours, I'll have something ready for you to eat.”  
Dayala said nothing as she closed her eyes. She needed time to think, even if it was while she was asleep.

Her sleep was dreamless for the most part, but at some point she began to feel hot. Her skin felt clammy and she felt like she was frozen to the bed. A part of her knew that she must have been running a fever, but the majority of her conscious brain could only feel a slow, creeping suffocation. She tried to inhale, but her lungs felt heavy, and she was only able to breath in gasps. This went on for some time until she felt hands on her chest. Something or someone was touching her, caressing the skin right over her breasts, rubbing in small circles. Her eyes opened suddenly and she cried out, “No! Get your fucking hands off of me!”  
She struggled as the room came into view. Her hands and legs were still bound, but she thrashed as much as she was able, “Just do it already! Whatever you're going to do to me, just fucking do it already and get it over with! Rape me, kill me, just do it!”  
She flailed her head back and forth until she felt something cool on her face, “Dayala, it's Kearn. Calm down… Your fever is up again,” his voice was calm but his hands were forceful. “Take it easy, you're gonna hurt yourself.”  
She blinked several times as she felt the sweat all over her body. She felt sticky and her scalp felt wet and matted. She managed to gain some of her composure and struggled to find her bearings, “Yes...fever… I see.”  
“Yeah. I've got this ointment here, it'll help cool you down.” She felt his hands on her chest once more, “I'm just gonna rub a little more in, all right? It needs to go on your chest, I’m not going any lower than that. You good?”  
She felt herself relax slightly, “Yes… I'm good.”  
“Good. Hells woman, if I wanted to grab your tits I'd have done it already,” he chuckled, though it was clear by his tone that he was surprised by her reaction. “Also, I would do it when you were awake, for fuck’s sake.”  
“I...Sorry,” she breathed as she settled back.   
“Don't worry about it, it's the poison sweats. Your body is just processing the rest of that shit, hopefully this is the last of it. Paranoia and hallucinations are pretty common side effects. Here, drink,” he said as he held a spoon up to her mouth.  
She did, and the water calmed her immensely. “I feel sick,” she said after she’d finished drinking.  
“You need to eat. I’ve got some vegetable stew ready for you; I don’t think you’re ready for meat just yet. First we’ve gotta get you cleaned up, you look like hell.”  
“I feel like hell,” she slurred as she felt herself being hoisted up to a sitting position.  
The cot was lying on the ground beside the wall, and he helped her into a position where she could lean against it, “Stay put,” he told her as he rose. He returned a moment later with a clay basin and a fur rag and knelt in front of her. Silently, he began to towel her off, starting with her arms and her legs.  
Compared to the temperature of her skin, the water felt like ice, but it was a welcome sensation. Dayala was feeling nauseous and dizzy, but it was quickly passing.  
Kearn toweled her off for several moments before he finally spoke, “I get the feeling that you might actually feel better if I did rape you. At least if would give you a reason to keep hating me. I don’t blame you for expecting it, and I don’t want you thinking that I have a heart of gold, but you need to get over your assumptions about me. You’re just as fucked up as I am, but I’ll be damned if I wasn’t more socialized. I’ve killed a lot of people for money, but I’ve never forced myself on a woman. It doesn’t really do it for me, if you catch my meaning. I’m not saying that one is even better than the other: for all I know the rapists might get a better shot at the after life than the murderers, but I am saying that you need to start trusting me just a little or this transaction is going to be very difficult for both of us.”  
Dayala sighed, “I don’t hate you… I don’t have the energy to hate anyone.” It was true. Her head was pounding and her stomach was in knots, and all she wanted to do was go home. The truth was, she didn’t really have a home and she knew it. She also knew that his words were truer than she wanted to admit, that perhaps she had been too much of a hermit for too long and was now incapable of truly trusting anyone.  
He placed the back of his hand on her forehead and nodded, “You’re starting to cool off a little. let’s see if you can keep some food down.”  
She nodded wordlessly as he stood once more and went to his cooking area by the fire. A moment later, he returned with a small bowl. He knelt in front of her once more and took up the spoon, “You gonna puke if I put this in your mouth?”  
Dayala smelled the stew and shook her head. Even though she was feeling ill, the stew smelled good, “No… but if I do I’ll be sure to do it all over you.”  
He grinned, “Fair enough.”

After being spoon fed two bowls, Dayala was feeling worlds better. Her stomach had calmed down and so had her head, and though she was still feeling a bit achey her limbs were feeling much stronger.  
“Do you think much about the time?” She asked after they’d been sitting in silence for awhile.  
Kearn, who was whittling away at something at one of his benches, smiled, “No. There’s day and night and that’s pretty much all that matters.”  
She nodded, “You’re flute… how did you get the animals to respond so well to you?”  
“Oh, that was easy,” the retired assassin said as he ran a stone edge over the carving he was working on, “I played the flute while I killed them. I let some of them live, and I traveled several miles out in every direction and did the same with several of the Sketton’s most vicious killers. These creatures are smarter than people give them credit for, and word got around like I hoped it would. For the first year or so, I’d catch the odd Grollock roaming around the outside or a group of Szin, a blood sucking creature that you probably didn’t come across because you’re still alive now. I’d kill them, or almost kill them just to let them walk away. Animals have instinct, and eventually they learned that the flute means death. I have the runes as well, and I can play my flute through them to a certain extent, but the sound doesn’t travel very far.”  
“Pershia’s folly,” Dayala murmured with a small smile.  
“Hm, what’s that?”  
“Pershia’s folly is a rune. You can use it with your existing runes and amplify the sound.”  
Kearn chuckled, “I don’t know it and I’ve never heard of such a rune.”  
“I think there are a lot of runes you’ve never heard of.”  
“I think you’re right,” he continued to chuckle.  
Another few minutes of silence passed, but it was much less stressful than before. Dayala wanted desperately to be rid of her bindings, but she also understood why she’d been tied. There was nothing to be gained from silence, and she had no secrets to withhold, so there was no reason not to engage in conversation with her captor, “Aaron… I’m sorry. He spoke highly of you.”  
Kearn stopped carving and glanced at her, “You’re pretty bold for bringing that up again. I’m surprised.”  
She shrugged with her eyes, “It’s the only thing I’ve felt guilty about in years.”  
Kearn resumed his carving, “Why?”  
“When I was a girl, I was seduced by a man who told me lots of things. I thought I was in love,” Dayala smirked and laughed humorlessly, “I thought he was in love with me. I gave myself to him then later found him in the forest while I was hunting. It turned out that he’d only fucked me to win a bet. I couldn’t deal with it and I shot and killed him and everyone in his camp.”  
The ex assassin nodded, “Did you piss your pants?”  
“No.”  
He laughed, “I did. First man I ever killed was trying to steal food from me. I was twelve years old. I hadn’t eaten in days and to me that food was literally the difference between life and death. He hit me. I jumped on top of him and bit his ear; nearly bit it off entirely. He screamed and grabbed his face, and that’s when I drew the shiv in his waistband and sunk it into his gut. Then I pissed my pants.”  
Dayala couldn’t help but laugh, “I’m sorry… that’s an awful story yet I’m laughing.”  
He shrugged with a smile, “Laugh it up, I still do. I was able to laugh about it a short time later.”  
“Where are you from?”  
“Originally, South Tepland, at least that’s where I grew up.”  
Dayala pursed her lips, and was about to ask another question before she closed her mouth.  
“What’s on your mind?”  
She shook her head, “I’m trying to think of a tactful way to ask about it.”  
He laughed, “Is it about my skin?”  
“Yes.”  
“Oh, you won’t offend me, don’t worry,” he looked down at his arms, “I’m a fucking halfer just like you.”  
She tilted her head, “Begging your pardon, but half of what and what?”  
“Half human and half Drassal.”  
“Drassal?” Dayala’s eyes widened for a moment, “You’re telling me that you’re half dark elf? I thought they were all killed off over a thousand years ago.”  
“I think most of them were, but obviously there’s still a few here and there, namely, my deceased mother.”  
Dayala’s curiosity was more than piqued. As far as she knew, the dark elves were a race of the past. As history was written, the Drassal had become so dangerous in their pursuit of destructive magic that all the other races had agreed that they needed to be purged. The dark elves were outnumbered thousands to one, and it was less of a war and more of a genocide. Most of their existence had been wiped from history, and owning any book or artifact that they’d left behind was an offense punishable by death in Lattia. She’d read descriptions of the race and Kearn seemed to fit most of them, so it was difficult to question his claim, even in her own mind.  
“I know it seems impossible, but apparently there’s an island far, far to the west where a group of Drassal reside in secret. I never considered looking for it, though.”  
“Why’s that?”  
He gave her a knowing look, “You know as well as I do that the world rejects us halfers. It’s not just society, on some level it seems to be nature itself. There’s an order in which things operate, one might even say that there’s a cosmic law that all living things must fall subject to, but halfers go against it in every way. Humans base their entire ecosystem around money; if you’re human you can buy just about anything, including status. The elves base their structures around politics and dwarves around structures, but halfers don't have any of that. I'm not saying that we're mere victims of circumstance, but neither side of our blood will ever truly accept us.”  
“I can't argue with you,” she replied evenly. “Do you think I'm weak for wanting to hide my identity?”  
“Not at all, I spent my last year in Lattia wearing a cloak and hood. I don't honestly give a damn about being prejudiced against, but if I walk into a place just for beer and get turned away because of the way I look, I'm gonna get pissy. It's just not worth fighting against. Besides, we've got better things to do with our time… Like make stupid decisions about who we try to kill,” he gave her a half smile.   
“Are you referencing me?”  
“Actually, no, I'm referencing myself.”  
The assassin remembered the job that her captor had mentioned but decided not to ask about it, since she felt like she'd already asked too many questions.  
“I'll tell you something else, Dayala. In our line of work, it's never a question of if you're going to bite off more than you can chew… It's a question of when. At a certain point, you stopped taking jobs just for money. You're a hunter. I understand you well, because you and I are very similar. I myself, unfortunately, find fulfillment in testing my skills against this or that. The work is its own reward, and the prize is staying alive and eluding boredom.”  
It was a strange conversation for Dayala, since she'd never really encountered anyone with similar experiences. She processed what he said slowly before venturing, “Why did you move so far away, then? Was it more than just to escape Sebille?”  
“Yes.” The ex killer took a deep breath, “After a certain course of events, I took an interest in pharmacology. I was already quite familiar with toxicology, but I really only knew how to kill people with poison. I engrossed myself in the study of medicine and herbalism. Eight years ago, I had the sudden desire, along with a not so gentle urging from Sebille's guards, to flee the city. I needed some time to think and I wanted to try my hand at seeing if I could keep things alive as opposed to just killing them. The Sketton seemed like the perfect place. I was interested when I learned about the village here, and I made contact with them as soon as I could. They have a healthy respect for me, mostly because I've kept many of them from dying of sickness over the past few years, but they fear me because I live on the ground. It's fun though… I've found some fulfillment in growing plants and making medicine,” he snorted lowly and shrugged, “It’s a nice change of pace… But I knew it had to come to an end eventually.”  
She listened quietly. It seemed that the questions didn't bother him, so she asked another, “Do you feel like you're trying to atone for something?”  
He furrowed his brow and smiled, “Good question. I asked myself the same thing when I first came here. I’ve killed so many people, Dayala. I thought to myself, surely there must be some part of me that feels bad about it, but try as I might, I could never muster a bit of regret. You know what I mean?”  
She nodded. The assassin did know what he meant.  
“In any case, that's enough talking for now. Let's get you outside so you can use the facilities, as it were, then you can get a bit more rest.”  
Dayala frowned and sighed, “Sure.”

The night proceeded much like the previous one had, only Dayala slept much better. She was awoken, however, by some loud conversation outside. She opened her eyes and winced, remembering once more that she was tied. She strained her ears to hear what was happening, but the loud voice had died down. Several minutes later, Kearn entered and turned toward her straightaway when he saw that she was awake.   
“That was an interesting little house call,” he told her as he came nearer.  
Dayala blinked the sleep out of her eyes, “Who the hell is around to talk to way out here?”  
“Oh, that was Ris. You met him, I'm sure. Those are his gauntlets you stole, after all” Kearn said casually.  
“Ris? What does he want?”  
“Lots of things he can't have,” Kearn laughed. “It seems that Milsetta has gone missing...I wonder who might have had a hand in that?”  
She ignored his allusion and grimaced, “What did you tell him?”  
“Well, he asked me if I’d seen a woman around who bears an uncanny resemblance to you. I told him that I did indeed find you and that I took care of you.”  
Dayala’s eyes widened, “So he knows I’m alive and that I’m here?”  
Kearn laughed, “I don’t know, I let him come to his own conclusion. He’s in no position to be demanding things from me and he knows it. He tried to play it off like he was warning me about you, but he was frantic about his lost fiancee. I’m very curious to know how exactly you ended up with his gauntlets, care to share?”  
“Ugh,” Dayala grunted. There was no longer any reason for her to be even remotely conservative with her expressions. “Can I pee first?”  
“Ah yes, of course. Although, you might want to wait a few minutes until Ris is well out of sight.”  
She sighed, “Good point.”

Fifteen minutes or so later, Dayala was back inside and was feeling much better. She felt twice as strong as he had the day before, but her limbs weren’t as responsive as she wanted them to be. It didn't help that she was still bound, and her muscles were beginning to protest the lack of movement.   
As her host went about making breakfast, she began to tell him about her journey there. She skipped over several uneventful weeks until she arrived at the heart of what he wanted to know. She relayed to him all of the details about her visit with the Skettonites. She told him about the archery contest and the way Crowther had lied to protect him. She wanted to leave out the part about Milsetta, but it was directly related to her circumstance, and she couldn't think of a way around it. She ended up telling him everything about the way Milsetta had approached her, and when she arrived at the part where Crowther’s daughter had disrobed, Kearn lifted his eyebrows.  
“Really? Little Milsetta did that?”  
Dayala nodded, “I was just as surprised as you, probably more.”  
The ex assassin laughed heartily, “Who knew that her balls were bigger than Ris’; She's something else,” Kearn calmed slightly, “So, what did you tell her? I won't judge you if you indulged her.”  
The assassin's face went flat, “I did no such thing. I just talked with her and told her how things are. It was a pretty sappy speech, but I think it got the point across. I do hope she at least makes it out of the sketton for her sake.”  
“She'll make it. I don't know how it'll go for her afterwards, but she'll get out of the Sketton.” He paused, “You're awfully benevolent for a killer.”  
Dayala wasn't sure if it was a compliment or not, but she shrugged in as much as her binds allowed her, “I'd say most people don't deserve an arrow through their throat. The people that had contracts taken out against them had it coming; I never cared enough about them to reflect. If not me, than someone else would have taken them down. It's like deer and wolves: too many of either throws everything off, there's got to be a balance.”  
“Good points, all of them. I wasn't questioning you; that would be the blackest pot calling the kettle black.”  
She pursed her lips, “Anyhow, after the Milsetta incident, Ris came to pay me a visit. It seemed that he was spying on me the entire time, and he wanted to know what I'd done to make her cry. I'll spare you the details, but that interaction left him unconscious and I took his gauntlets to escape without the lift.”  
“How often do you don strange equipment and suicidally attempt to master it in one go?”  
Dayala couldn't help but smirk, “Not often. It seemed like the best option at the time, and Crowther seemed like the kind of man who would do anything for his daughter, even if the misunderstanding was his fault, he wasn't inherently wrong about me.”  
Kearn nodded, “You could’ve made it back...why didn't you?”  
She glanced at him and shook her head with a long sigh. She'd known why since the beginning, but she was in a position where she finally had to say it out loud, “You know why,” she said quietly. “Before this job, I'd never failed. This profession doesn't leave much room for error, as you know, so the fact that I'd even made it this far was astounding to me. You know what it's like… being a halfer. People make assumptions about you and things are just harder in general because of all the prejudice that comes your way. You get used to it, but you also have to make your own standards. For the first few years of my adult life, I was living fairly well in a rural village. I left my surrogate father to try and make it on my own and things were fine for a while. I was slandered a bit in the village, but no one ever said anything to my face, and the popular opinion was that I was good looking enough to be tolerated,” she adjusted herself on the cot and smiled. “I enjoyed hunting, and I was able to get by on selling things that I couldn't use. Then that man came along and everything changed. I don't blame him for all of my problems, I think I might have turned to this sort of career eventually; the only thing he did was rush me to it.” Dayala laughed lowly as she remembered, “When I realized what I had done I scrambled to move everything for fear that I would be hanged. I carried myself as far as I could on foot and miles later I found myself in a similar position. There was a man who approached me and asked me how good I was with my bow. I told him I was pretty good, and he asked me if I could help him get some stolen money back. Now, I was young and naive to the world, but I wasn't stupid. I thought maybe he was just trying to swindle me, but he was frantic and I could tell that whatever had happened to him had left him at his wit's end. So I agreed to help him get his money back, which ultimately led to me shooting and killing two highwaymen. I was afraid of what the local garrison would say, this was back when Raleigh's father was throned and they had outposts everywhere. I was shocked to discover that they didn't care. We had a brief conversation and once they realized that I'd killed some common robbers they walked away from me. After that, I realized something profound: no one cared.” Dayala shook her head with a small smile, “The man I helped was grateful, and he gave me some of his recovered money as payment, so I guess that was my first job. Circumstances went from there and before I knew it I was a woman of small reputation. I didn't want the fame, but dropping my working name eventually gave me some credibility.”  
Kearn began to cook as he listened, “What's your working name, if you don't mind me asking?”  
She gave him a slow smile, “It's foolish.”  
Kearn chuckled, “More foolish than The Gray willow?”  
Dayala was progressively enjoying the man's company, and she realized it as she replied, “I suppose not. They called me the black asp. Not my idea, but someone started using the name and it seems to have stuck.”  
The gray skinned man paused, “I think I've heard the name… twenty years or so back. There was a story circulating about six men who'd all been shot in the neck, it was around Jantar. You?”  
She nodded, “Yes. They were only a few petty gangsters. People seem to be impressed by the numbers, but if you get the element of surprise, you can take down almost any number of targets before they become aware.”  
“I know that well,” he paused before smiling slightly, “It’s strange talking about it… isn’t it?”  
She realized that she’d given up far more information than she’d been asked of, but she nodded, “It is.” She went quiet for a long moment before asking, “What are you going to do with me, Kearn? I realize that I’m not in a position to demand anything, but… I’d rather know sooner than later and my muscles are getting sore.”  
Kearn was grinding some herbs in his mortar and he stopped. He took a deep breath and set the mortar down before heading over to her, “What indeed,” he said lowly with a ponderous look. He stared at her for a long time before shaking his head, “Surely you must appreciate the position you’ve put me in?”  
“I believe I do, yes,” Dayala replied surely.  
He nodded once, “Let me show you something.” Before she could blink, the ex assassin had a thin, double edged throwing knife in his hand. She had no idea where he’d pulled it from, it was almost as if it had appeared suddenly. He balanced the small edge on the tip of his finger and continued, “I, like you, have always detested the idea of comparing myself to others. I hate competitions and I hated when people expected me to perform for them in order for me to prove myself. That being said, I consider this a necessary demonstration.”  
Dayala watched as the man flicked his wrist in some direction and a moment later she heard the small blade sink itself into something across the room. Her eyes flitted about until she saw that it had stuck itself into a fruit that was sitting on the cut in table. Her eyes returned to him and she saw that he had yet another knife balanced on his finger.  
“This is my bow,” he said quietly. “I am every bit as skilled as you are when it comes to killing, probably more so. If it has a blade or a point, I can use it. If it can be thrown, regardless of whether it’s balanced or not, I can throw it. I said it before, Dayala: I really don’t want to kill you, but I won’t allow you to take my life. We’re at a stalemate here… to be honest, I don’t really know what the hell to do with you. I don’t think you know what the hell to do with yourself, but you don’t want to die… do you?”  
Dayala met his gaze unblinkingly. His display was certainly impressive, but she wasn’t surprised by it. He’d had almost half a lifetime of practice over her, and his point wasn’t lost on her, “I don’t… no.”  
“Good,” He lowered the knife and cut her binding with almost surgical precision, “You can eat with your own two hands, at least.”  
The sensation of her bindings being cut was almost surreal. She blinked several times before moving her arms to her sides slowly.  
Kearn stood and went to one corner of the room. A moment later, he returned with her pack, her quiver and her bow and set them down in front of her, “A token of goodwill. I don’t have any secret hiding spots here and I don’t want you tearing my place up to get your shit back. It’s all there.”  
Dayala’s arms were sore, especially her shoulders, but upon seeing her bow she reached out to it and ran her hand along its smooth surface, “Are you sure?”  
He gave her a quizzical look, “If I wasn’t then it’s a bit too late to change my mind.” He handed her the throwing knife, “You can cut the bindings on your feet; the last time I got that close you got a little angry.”  
She stared at the knife for several seconds, still in disbelief that he was actually going to free her.   
“It’s not a trick, woman, now take the damn knife before our breakfast burns,” he flashed her an exasperated grin before becoming serious. “Listen, I can't do this anymore… keeping you tied up like an animal, sleeping with one eye open… it's not working for either of us. I'm taking a hell of a risk here, but what happens next is largely up to you.”  
She took the knife and gripped it loosely before settling back in thought.  
Kearn pinched the bridge of his nose and returned to the kitchen, “After you eat I’ll bring in some water for you so you can wash yourself… you stink.”  
She nodded as she began to cut her legs free.

After they’d eaten, Dayala washed herself. Kearn had brought her some water, just as he’d said he would, then he left, telling her that he would be back in an hour or so. It was odd, bathing alone inside of the tree that she’d been stuck in for days, but she quickly got over the feeling. She washed herself well before she went through her pack. It seemed that Kearn had not only left things the way he’d found them, but that he’d also washed her clothes and her traveling cloak. She dressed herself and kicked into her boots before going about the task of brushing out her hair. It had grown a bit longer in the weeks that she’d been traveling, and she tied it up as she usually did. She was about to don the wrap that covered her ears before she paused and realized that there was no point. She replaced the wrap in her pack and took a seat as she realized that she had nothing else to do.  
Then, Dayala thought. The whirlwind of the past several days had been more mentally taxing on her than she’d realized, and she concluded that she hadn’t truly been able to think straight because of it. She wanted to think through every likely scenario and where it would lead, like she usually did, but her mind was still tired. No matter which way she looked at it, the answer was the same. Her fate would still be largely decided what he was willing to do for her. She was now more than ten miles into the Sketton, a distance that was both terribly close to the exit and unreasonably far to actually get to. Regardless, she had more questions for her captor and she wanted to know if she could expect to leave any time soon.   
No sooner was she thinking on the matter when Kearn reentered with a bowl of random items.  
“I see you found your clothes, good,” he told her as he strode into the treehouse and set the bowl on the table. “I would have knocked, but it’s sort of difficult to knock on a fur curtain.”  
“It’s your place,” she said absently as she refocused her eyes. She’d been thinking so intently that she was just staring into the floor.  
“Not for long it isn’t,” he said as he began to remove things from the bowl. “Oh, I found some eggs; you don’t need to know where they come from, trust me, but they taste pretty good. There are a few early carrots as well, we might even be able to have a little salad.”  
Dayala took a deep breath, “Can we talk?”  
“We are talking,” Kearn replied as he continued to disperse the contents of the bowl onto the table. “You want to know what’s going to become of you, right?”  
She thought about his response and sighed, “Yes, but I want to know why you never just took care of Sebille to rid yourself of him.”  
The ex assassin stopped what he was doing and walked over to where she was sitting. He planted himself across from her on the ground and grinned, “I considered it. When was the last time you actually saw Sebille walking the streets of Lattia?”  
“Never,” she admitted.  
“Right. He never really leaves his estate and it’s so heavily guarded that he might be able to withstand a siege behind his walls.”  
“You seem like a man of means. You killed Raleigh, how much harder would it be to kill a monarch?”  
“I had help, namely Sebille’s help. It’s not getting in that’s difficult for me, it’s getting out. Making an attempt on Sebille is veritably a suicide mission, especially if I’m going in solo. More than that, I don’t think he’s worth the trouble.”  
Her eyes narrowed, “He’s out in force trying to kill you years after you did what he paid you to do and he’s not worth the trouble?”  
Kearn shrugged, “What would I really be gaining? The ability to walk abroad without fear of being captured and hung? I never really had that to begin with. Now that you’re involved though, that adds a whole other aspect to it. The assassin’s guild is being paid to find and kill me. If Raleigh is dead, then that means they will cease to hunt me, but that doesn’t mean we all get a happy ending.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“Listen, I wanted to wait to tell you this until you were a little more lucid,” he paused, “Since you’re so eager to learn everything all at once and you don’t know how to take a fucking break, I’ll tell you. The assassin’s guild isn’t just an organization that’s made up of a bunch of killers. When you climb the ranks, you learn a few things. You and I aren’t human, so our situation is unique. Our kind don’t usually survive long enough to learn much of anything, and most people that are willing to kill others for coin don’t care where the coin is coming from. The assassin’s guild is headed up by the entire council. Those who are skilled enough to climb its ranks eventually earn a place as one of the council members right hands. Sebille learned faster than most that even the most experienced soldier was nothing compared to a fighter hardened by the streets. Between their daylight politics, which are bad enough, and their midnight dealings, they are able to keep an iron grip on both the upper and lower class, and there are only a few organizations that exist without their support. That’s how they’ve been able to expand at such an astonishing rate.”  
Dayala shook her head. Even in her wildest musings, she'd never considered the possibility that the corruption of the council was absolute. To think that it went through to the core was disturbing, and the consequences for even knowing such information were already making her nervous. “The mage’s guild… are they with the council?” She asked suddenly.  
“No, they’re one of the few who refuses to have anything to do with them, why?”  
She went quiet for a moment, “The last job I took before this one… I killed some big wig from the mage’s guild.”  
Kearn nodded, “Not surprising. The mage’s guild was around long before the council was formed, and many of their most powerful members are openly against the council taking more land from the surrounding countries. I’m positive that the council would like nothing more than to see all of the opposing guilds wiped off the map, but that’s not how they operate. Unlike the Raleigh bloodline, the council isn’t interested in war. Instead, they’re buying everything up. The flatter was only the first step of their plan. Having a currency that’s made out of multiple metals guarantees that it will have value almost anywhere, and within the first few years it became not only an acceptable form of payment but also the preferred one. Regardless, like any dynasty before them, they still have the occasional need to silence some of their more powerful adversaries, but they can't do it out in the open. In order to keep their image up, they use people like you and I. It's a full time gig and everyone's in on it, so there's no one to tattle on.”  
“I see,” she replied distantly.  
Kearn adjusted himself on the floor and cocked his head, “It seems like you only started working with the guild recently, but surely you've noticed that something is off.”  
“Yes, I can't deny that,” she agreed with him. “I had my suspicions, but to think that everyone is involved… it's a little overwhelming.”  
He nodded, “So you understand that it wouldn't end with Sebille. If we poke that hornet's nest, we're going to lose, no matter which way you look at it.”  
“All right, I can agree with you there, but you were walking around freely before Sebille came for you; what happened that made him so aggressive?”  
Kearn pursed his lips, “Do you remember that job I told you about?”  
“Yes.”  
“Well, that job was very much like the one that you're on now.”  
Dayala frowned, “I believe I understand what you mean, but how exactly?”  
“I wasn't meant to come back from that job.”  
The assassin's curiosity was once more incited, “What kind of job was it?”  
Kearn became quiet, “The usual kind, but the target was far more than I could handle.”  
Dayala could scarcely believe that there was any target alive that her host wouldn't be able to silence with a quick throw, but she didn't say as much, “If you don't want to talk about it I'll understand.”  
He shook his head, “I'm not sure… It's been quite some time since I've gone over it in my head. No one other than myself knows the story, and even I have a difficult time believing that I survived it. Would you mind if we revisited the details later?”  
The assassin was slightly thrown by his question and she raised her brow, “Do I mind? You're not obligated to tell me anything; really it's none of my damn business… I'm sorry for bringing it up.”  
His dark countenance brightened suddenly as he shook his head, “No need to apologize, it's just not something I can't put into words right now. Let's talk about anything else.”  
Even though he looked calm, she sensed that the memory of whatever had happened caused him some anxiety. She had her own set of inner demons, however, and she wanted to attempt to put some of them to rest, “Why did you involve Aaron Sayder?”  
“Ah, that's an interesting question,” his eyes narrowed as he gave her a curious look, “You really want some closure with this, don't you?”  
She frowned, slightly upset with how easily he saw through the question, “Yes, at least a little. I'm legitimately curious, though. Why him? How did you even meet? He's an antique dealer for God's sake.”  
Kearn laughed, “It was certainly an odd encounter. I was at an antique convention looking for Gvish steel. It’s a popular material to make silverware and plates out of because it can be polished to a mirror shine. Incidentally, it's also one of the best dwarven steels to use for throwing knives because of its flexibility. So I'm standing there buying a set of spoons and he sidles up right alongside me and asks, 'my good sir, pardon me, but what do you plan to do with those?’ I was cloaked and hooded, and most people stay the hell away from me, especially when they notice the color of my skin, so I was slightly taken off guard. I saw no reason to lie to him, so I told him that I planned to melt them down for raw material.” Kearn paused and chuckled, “You should have seen the look on his face, it was as if I'd accosted him in the worst way possible. He practically begged me to reconsider and insisted on me telling him why it had to be those spoons in particular. So I mentioned the gvish steel and he ran off without even telling me where he was going. He returned moments later holding the ugliest, gaudiest serving platter I’d ever seen in my life and he basically shoved it into my arms and said, ‘there's more gvish steel in this platter than ten sets of those spoons! Will you please trade me?’ I wasn't sure at first, because the platter was dipped in pewter, but after I examined it closely I was pleasantly surprised to learn that he was correct. I had no choice but to concede, since he'd gone through so much trouble, and frankly the fact that anyone was willing to get that worked up over a few pieces of old dinnerware was staggering to me. Somehow, he managed to convince me to go to dinner with him; he wanted to talk about metallurgy. I humored him at first, but then I discovered that I was actually enjoying the conversation, and before I knew it we were meeting up at least once a week to talk about this or that. He told me lots of things that he probably shouldn't have, and he asked me my opinions on things like women and relationships,” Learn laughed once more, “Topics I was ill equipped to help him with. I never told him what I did for a living and he never asked, but I think he knew. When the time came for me to leave, I wasn't planning on telling him, but somehow he knew. He surprised me by saying, ‘this is the last time we'll see each other, isn't it?’ I had to say yes,” the ex assassin took a deep breath. “As I told you before, I ended up telling him about the Sketton and the rest is history. One of Sebille's men must have seen us together at some point and when they exhausted all of their information resources they stooped to Aaron as a last resort.” He looked up at her, “How’d you do it? Get him to talk, I mean?”  
She felt suddenly queasy as she remembered, “I disguised myself as a blue blood and met him at a high class matching service. We talked all night then we had a few drinks and I slipped him a sedative. I… hypnotized him. Even hypnotized, it wasn't easy for me to get the information out of him, and it felt like he was more lucid than I was. I didn't hurt him, but...he said he loved me. That was worse.”  
Kearn looked at her for a long moment before replying, “So you feel like you fucked him over like you got fucked over?”  
She nodded.   
“It's my fault. I never should have told him, but he was so goddamned insistent,” he chuckled regretfully. “It really was nice though, knowing that there was at least one person outside of this forest who gave a damn about me. In any case, there's nothing you can do about it. He'll bounce back, trust me. Anyway, Aaron is the least of our problems. The biggest fish to fry at the moment is figuring out how you want to get out of here… and when you'll feel well enough to make the trip.”  
She blinked, “You're letting me go?” She asked with unmasked surprise.   
He shrugged, “What else can I do? I already told you that I can't stomach the thought of keeping you here against your will. You can stay until you're well, then we'll set out. I can get you out of the Sketton and what you do after that is your business.”  
Dayala could hardly believe what she was hearing, “Aren't you worried that I'll give away your location?”  
He smirked, “Not even a little. It wouldn't make a difference even if you did: I'm leaving when you're leaving.”  
She looked around the room and furrowed her brow, “You're just going to leave everything behind? Just like that?” She tried to imagine waking away from nearly a decade’s worth of hard work and realized that she'd been the cause of his dilemma. The realization was more depressing than upsetting, but what really amazed her was the fact that he didn't seem overly attached to the home he'd built.   
“Just like that. They already know I'm here, they'll find me eventually with or without your help. The fact that you took part in that knowledge is irrelevant, so before you go and get all guilty on me, remember that I'm trying to save my own skin as well. I don't want to leave,” he said evenly as he glanced around the room, “But it's time. I'm losing my mind here. There's too much isolation for anyone to survive without going mad, even a man like me.”  
She respected his self awareness, but she still couldn't help but feel responsible, “If it means anything...I apologize. For everything.”  
“What in the fuck for?” He asked, looking somewhat bewildered.   
She set her jaw, “Over the years, I've taken a lot of jobs, but I always knew at least a little about my target. Like I said, the poor bastards I've put down had it coming, and most of them were the kind of people that would sell their own mother for a profit, but I took this job full well knowing that I knew nothing about the target. It was a mistake.”  
“Sounds like you're more upset about it than I am. As far as I'm concerned, this is just my past coming back to bite me in the ass. I left some loose ends and now I'm paying for it; for me to blame you for all of this would be petty and short-sighted. To put it another way, it's cause and effect,” he gestured to himself, “I'm cause,” his hands shifted towards her, “You’re effect. That's how everything works.”  
She nodded, “I see. Well, I suppose the rest is going to be decided by how quickly I can heal,” she said hesitantly.  
“Yes, if we try to leave now we'll probably both die. You're frustrated, I can see, but you're going to have to be patient.”  
Dayala grimaced, “Do I seem frustrated?”  
Kearn chuckled, “I can't tell if you're being sarcastic or not, but who wouldn't be. You're a woman of action, and I can appreciate that, but right now rushing into anything will almost certainly end with you dead. In your case, the rock and the hard place aren't even proverbial, they're quite literal. I’m not running a bed and breakfast here; you can pull your own weight in the ways that you're able to, especially if it'll make you feel better, but you've got to come to terms with your situation.”  
She hated that he was right, and her expression matched it, “Fine...I suppose I'll have to adjust.”

The day wore on into the evening as the two spoke at length. Mostly, they talked about the places they'd lived over the years and the jobs they'd taken. Many people would have been put off by Kearn’s bluntness, but Dayala was enjoying it. She realized it even as it was happening, but she was actually beginning to feel comfortable with the man.   
As night fell, Kearn began to cook dinner. Dayala paced around the room slowly, trying to get some of her muscle strength back. She was moving well enough, but she could feel that he stamina was short and even a few small jumps were enough to wind her.   
They ate in relative silence until Dayala asked, between bites, “Is it strange having dinner with someone?”  
The ex assassin nodded after a moment, “Strange really isn't the word for it, it's more like… surreal. Honestly, I'm not completely convinced that you're not just a figment, but I suppose that Ris’ visit was enough to prove that I haven't imagined you.”  
Dayala smiled, “If I was imaginary you could have thought up a less aloof woman. Or, at the very least, someone who wasn't aiding in your demise.”  
Kearn laughed lowly, “I'm a glutton for punishment, it seems.”  
After they'd eaten, Kearn made some tea and they resumed their stations. It had only been a few days of inactivity for her, but Dayala was already feeling stir crazy.  
“Did you see anything interesting in my bag?” She asked suddenly, breaking a long moment of silence.  
“Hm? Oh, I suppose I did,” he replied between sips. “How did you get into runic magic? It’s not well studied in these regions, and most magicians consider it too paltry to spend any real time on it.”  
“My surrogate father was a dwarf. It was an odd arrangement, and I’ll spare you the details, but he taught me much of what I know regarding runes. I don’t consider myself a magician, I just don’t have the patience for all those complicated gestures and words, but the runes are easy for me to use.”  
He nodded and smiled lightly, “How many would you say you know of?”  
She shrugged, “Probably well over a thousand. I regularly use at least a hundred in my work, but I honestly don’t know until I have need of them.”  
“You mean you just wing it?”  
Dayala flashed him a genuine smile, “Sometimes. Sometimes I plan too much and end up taking too long, so improvisation works better for me.”  
“You live in your head a lot, don’t you?”  
She realized herself and her smile disappeared, “Well, yes, I suppose I do.”  
“You’ve got vices, don’t you?”  
The assassin furrowed her brow, “No, not really, why?”  
He smirked and gave her an incredulous look, “C’mon, everyone’s got vices. Alcohol, drugs, sex, making stupid decisions… antique spoons,” he added with a laugh. “What do you do when you’re not sinking arrows into men’s hearts?”  
“It’s perfectly possible for a person to go through their life without the aid of constant libations. Perhaps I’m just boring, but I spend most of my time at the library,” she answered after a moment of thought.  
“Oh? How much time?”  
Dayala’s eyes narrowed, “Several hours...maybe longer.”  
“So, reading is your vice?”  
“It’s not a vice,” she defended herself immediately, then realized how desperate she might have sounded. “I just… like to read.”  
“What would you do with your off time if you didn’t have any books?”  
“I don’t know, probably go shopping or something.”  
“All day?”  
She felt a twinge of irritation before she grinned, “Are you trying to piss me off? Because it’s working.”  
Kearn chuckled, “No, I’m just trying to get you to admit that you’re addicted to reading.”  
She crossed her arms, still grinning, “Fine, you win. I’m a bookaholic. At least I spend my time doing something a little more productive than bopping prostitutes or getting shitfaced at some tavern.”  
He bowed his head in a gesture of surrender, “Point taken.” He paused for a moment to take a sip of his drink before continuing, “So, let’s say you go back and get paid and this whole thing is somehow not a set up at all but a bonafide job. You walk away with more money than you’ve ever had in your life: what are you gonna do with it?”  
“Buy a house somewhere in the country,” she replied immediately. Her answer sounded mechanical and almost scripted, and she realized it even as she spoke it.  
“Sounds great. Then what?”  
She blinked, “Then what? I live my life. I collect books. Go hunting.”   
He nodded once more, “Forever until you die?”  
She sighed as her stomach sank, “Look, what do you want from me, Kearn? What kind of plan am I supposed to have? I know I seem terribly headstrong, but I'm not stupid. I know I can't keep doing this forever, it's only a matter of time before I slip up and something or someone does me in. We wouldn't even be having this conversation right now if you hadn't decided to save me. It just proves my point.” She set her jaw in obvious frustration, “So you're a little older than me and you've been in the same position, I can respect that, but what are you trying to accomplish exactly by asking me all these questions?”  
“I don't know,” he answered after a moment. “I'm not trying to preach to you, Dayala, and I'm not trying to patronize you, I'm just telling you, flat out, that kind of life won't make you happy. I retired and I nearly went out of my mind. You’re not the kind of person who’s going to be able to just sit around all day for the rest of your life.”  
She took a deep breath, “You assume a lot,” she said evenly.  
“Yeah, I guess I do, but I think I’m right. You just don’t want to admit that you’ve grown accustomed to this life. You took this job because you couldn’t stay away from the challenge. Why are you so loathe to admit it?”  
She was unsure if she was angry with the man for bringing it up or relieved. She decided it was a combination of both, “Because it doesn’t make sense!” She said in exasperation. “I’m surviving, isn’t that the whole point of all this? Why would I take a job that’s clearly rigged somehow? Am I that bored?” She asked the question that had been in the back of her mind since before she’d departed. “Or am I just mad?”  
“We kill people for a living,” Kearn replied with a calm demeanor. “We can’t get real jobs in any capital city so we can’t have careers; everyone who is like us ends up doing something a little out of the norm. We do what we have to do to survive, but surviving isn’t living. The answer is simple: you wanna live, you don’t just want to survive.” He gestured around the room, “In the past seven years I’ve had more fun building this place and getting this forest to yield to me than I have in my entire life. I’m growing vegetables for fucking crying out loud!” He laughed, “I’m playing medicine man to a group of naive villagers who have no idea what the hell is going on outside of this forest. The solitude is crippling at times, but I didn’t just come here to run away. Do you think the Sketton was the safest place for me to be?” He asked her in a somewhat challenging tone.  
She shook her head, “No. I understand your point, but how do you propose that people like us actually ‘live’ as you call it?”  
He settled back, “I don’t know. All I know is that I’m closer to it here than I’ve ever been anywhere else. I don't think owning a house in the country is a bad thing, but once you hit that goal, you're going to need something else. What do you really want to do?”  
The question was equally as challenging as it was anger inducing, and the assassin did everything she could to quell her emotions, “What do you mean?”  
“What makes you happy?”  
She grimaced, “Hell, I don't know.” She sighed heavily, “I'm having a difficult time trying to process what you're saying. Is there a point to any of this other than you pushing your arbitrary point of view on me?”  
“Yes, my point is that you should reevaluate your goals.”  
Her eyebrow twitched, “Why the fuck do you care so much!” She snapped at him.  
“Because I like you.”  
Her anger dissipated almost as if she'd gotten the wind knocked out of her. A queasy mixture of confused emotions came over her and she wanted to be anywhere but there as she simply said, “Ah.”  
“It might seem like a terribly juvenile reason, but you asked. I'm not trying to be a sparkling knight; you know what you signed up for and you fucked up. I already told you, I'm not interested in pressing my advantage, that's why I gave you all your shit back.” He scratched his head, “Listen, I don't know why I'm telling you this, I just thought that maybe I could save you the trouble of trying to figure it out on your own. My opulent benevolence aside,” he said sarcastically, “you're not going to get a lot of second chances. I hate the thought of you going through what I had to go through to learn this simple lesson. You've got your pride and you're a grown ass woman, you can make your own fucking decisions, but I'm not gonna keep my mouth shut about the fact that you don't even seem to know what you're going to do when you get out of here. If I can offer you some advice that might spare you some heartache then why shouldn't I?”  
Dayala was still nearly speechless, “Do you have any alcohol?” She asked as she pinched the bridge of her nose.  
He furrowed his brow before chuckling, “There's a pot of fermenting fruit over in the corner, but it won't be booze for weeks. I haven't even added anything to mull it.”  
She nodded as she reached for her pack, “That's fine.” She removed a flask and removed its cork before taking a long pull from it. The liquor inside burned pleasantly down her throat and seemed to bolster her somewhat. After taking a second swig, she leaned forward and handed the flask to him, “Lattian rye,” she said quietly.  
Kearn took the flask and smelled it before giving her a long look, “This is going to put me on my ass: it's been nearly ten years since I've had liquor.”  
She laughed, “That's what it's for.”  
He took a careful sip and swallowed the liquid slowly before letting out a long sigh, “Well, shit.”  
She nodded, “Have a bit more, there's plenty.”  
He did before handing the container back to her.  
Dayala took a third drink and closed her eyes for a moment, “I haven't wanted to admit the truth for a long time,” she said quietly. “I don't know what happiness is, Kearn. I don't even know if I've ever been happy. I kept telling myself that all I needed was more money, but I knew that was a lie. You're right: I do this because I have to, but...I enjoy it. If I didn't have the challenge then I wouldn't have anything. All of my reasons for doing anything would simply disappear.” She took another sip of the liquor before handing the flask over to him.”I understand what you're saying, but I've been avoiding those questions for years. I don't have an answer for you. I've been inside of my head for so long that I may have forgotten how to think outside of it. I came here full well knowing that I would likely meet my end...but I didn't come here to die. I suspect it was the same for you.”  
“It was,” he agreed. “I wasn't trying to pressure you into anything, all I was trying to do was get you to think. I suppose it's the one thing I feel I'm owed… and I've said my piece and thrust it upon you, so you can consider your debt paid.”  
Dayala laughed, “You're perfectly incorrigible, aren't you?”  
“Me? Not anymore,” he laughed slightly. “There was a time, though. You probably think I've reformed myself by living here, but I haven't changed much. Certainly not as much as my vanity would like to think. There are just certain things I can’t be brought to care about anymore,” he said before he took another draught of her liquor. “So, you trying to get me all liquored up so you can have your way with me?”  
Dayala tried hard not to laugh, but failed, “No, I'm trying to survive the night. I’m more comfortable with the idea of both of us being intoxicated. Since you're hell bent on prying the truth out of me, I figure we could both use a little help.” Her emotions were all over the board, and at that moment she didn't know whether or not she wanted to strike him or embrace him. “What else do you want to call me out on? Might as well just put it out there.”  
“That's all I got.” He sighed with a smile. “Damn, that is some strong stuff.”  
She took yet another drink as the alcohol began to move to her head. “I want to be angry with you,” she said after a long moment. “How can you be so casual about this? This whole thing is crazy. You’re being pushed out of your home and being chased by an enemy that has an almost unlimited amount of resources. I mean, I’m not saying that you should be panicking, but… do you even care?”  
It was obvious that the alcohol was affecting him as well, and he nodded once, “I’m not sure. There’s a part of me that wants to keep running, but then, there’s another part that wants to prove a point. Either way, I’d be doing something foolish, but the time for doing things that make sense is far past for me.”  
She studied his features for a long moment, “There’s something about you that’s unsettling… I’m trying to figure out what it is.”  
He gave her a careful smile, “My skin tone, perhaps?”  
“No, that’s not it,” She shook her head quickly. “I think you look fine, what I mean to say is, there’s nothing wrong with the way you look,” she winced as she realized what she was saying. “I digress. It’s something about…your personality. It reminds me of Aaron, to be honest with you and that disturbs me for some reason.”  
Kearn uttered a laugh that was nearly a cackle, “It’s fascinating that you say that. I’ll tell you why… but I think I may need some more of that rye.”  
She passed it to him immediately, and watched him polish it off.  
“Very well,” he said after emptying the flask. “It’s about that job I was sent on by Sebille. At the time, I didn’t know he was the contractor, and I was never supposed to find out.”  
She frowned, remembering the look on his face when he’d brought it up earlier, “You don’t need to tell me anything about it if you don’t want to.”  
He shook his head, “I want to tell you. I just…” he sighed, “You have to understand that in a way, I’m burdening you with this information. The fact that I even want you to know is selfish, but I want you to hear it from me before it’s forced out of me.”  
She wasn’t exactly sure what he meant, but she nodded anyway, “I think I understand enough. I’m ready to hear it.”  
He nodded, “Fine. So… the job. It was a contract taken up against a witch. At first, I thought the contract was bogus, but my sponsor at the assassin’s guild assured me that it was legitimate. I was paid quite a sum up front in order to buy supplies and I set out for a long journey to the east. Long story short, I discovered that the witch I was hired to kill was none other than the lady of Thornpetal.”  
Dayala, who was no longer capable of hiding her expressions, raised her brow, “She’s real?”  
Kearn crossed his arms, “I was incredulous as well.”  
The name meant only a little to the hunter, but what she did know was mostly comprised of overly fictitious tales that depicted a being of immensely dark power. Allegedly, the lady of Thornpetal was a witch who’d been alive for hundreds of years, and had somehow managed to transmute herself with the planet itself.  
“When I learned of it, I thought to head back; just the idea was sheer stupidity. I was a professional assassin hired to kill a fairy tale. No one had seen or heard anything regarding her location, save for an old crone who already had one foot in the grave. Ironically, the very reason I decided to go on was because it was so ridiculous. Eventually, I found the place I was looking for: a weird old mushroom forest deep in the Vitland mountains. The closer I got, the less safe I felt, but I kept going forward. Eventually, I found the lair and waited in front of it for a long time. I knew that I was alone, but I felt a presence all around me. The atmosphere in that place was almost palpable… it was like a thick, humid wall of… conscious muck,” he shook his head. “It’s difficult to explain. Everything in me told me to go back. All of my survival instincts were screaming at my brain to turn and run, but… I didn’t.”  
Dayala was listening quietly, and she frowned slightly when he looked at her, “Yeah… I know what that feels like.”  
“I don’t know why I went inside,” he chuckled lowly. “I was trying to prove something, probably to myself. I’d been in hundreds of fights, some of which I’d taken some fairly serious wounds from, but I always walked away alive. It was… ingloriously stupid and horrendously arrogant. I couldn’t admit it at the time; I kept telling myself that it was just another job, but I knew the real reason. There are some things in this world that you just can’t fuck with. No matter how good you think you are, there’s always someone or something that can flick you aside like a fly. I guess I just wanted to see who or what that someone was.”  
“So… she was there?”  
“She was. I entered the lair and crept through several tunnels before I stumbled upon a great underground cavern. Inside, there was a single tree covered in a glowing, turquoise lichen. I approached the tree after I was sure no one was around and suddenly a woman’s face appeared in it. I attacked out of shock and the next few moments were a blur. There was a short fight… branches and vines were flying at me from every which way. I held some of them off, sliced others, but within seconds she had me. There was nothing I could do as I felt my arms and legs constricted by vines. I was lifted off the ground and brought higher before the face reappeared. And there she was… the lady of Thornpetal. She was incredibly beautiful and equally terrifying. I was so concerned about breathing that I couldn’t even turn my face away as she considered me. It was rumored that she was human before she did whatever the hell it was she did to turn herself into a goddamn tree. The only thing that appeared even remotely human about her though, was her face. Her eyes were an otherworldly green, but they were as cold and dead as a corpse’s. As I looked over her, I realized that I’d met my end,” Kearn chuckled. “It was a strange moment. That was it for me, I knew it with every fiber of my being. My knowledge of transmutation is limited at best, but I realized that even if I somehow managed to kill the thing that was holding me captive, she wouldn’t actually die. She wasn’t the tree, she was only using the tree as a vessel. She...raised a vine to my face,” the ex assassin said slowly as his voice began to waver. “She caressed my face with it for a moment before snaking the vine into my mouth. I tried to fight it, but I couldn’t. I choked and coughed as she forced her goddamned tentacle down my esophagus. It was easily the most painful thing I’ve ever experienced. It wriggled down into my stomach and seemed to fill up my entire body with smaller vines. Then, the smaller vines split off into even smaller vines… like capillaries. She pushed herself into every part of body, or at least that’s what it felt like. I stopped breathing and my heart stopped beating, but… I was still alive. It was like she was putting oxygen inside of me and causing my blood to flow, and I could feel her inside of my consciousness like another person was living inside of my brain.”  
Dayala listened to the incredible story somberly. It sounded far too detailed to be made up, and she could tell by his tone that it was difficult for him to talk about it.  
He continued after taking a deep breath, “She spoke to me then, and I can remember the conversation verbatim. I think that was intentional… I think she planted the memory in my brain to make sure that I never forgot.” Kearn was looking in Dayala’s direction, but his gaze was set well past her, “She said: What an interesting specimen you are. I am impressed that you found this place, and even more impressed that you came to meet me. To whom do I owe the pleasure?” Kearn’s voice had a slight inflection to it and somewhat of an accent, as if he were mimicking the witch’s voice. The sound of it wasn’t enough to alarm Dayala, but it did send a chill down her spine as the Kearn continued, “She was speaking to my mind directly, and her voice had different pitches to it, like more than one person was talking to me. Before I could answer her in any way or even think about how to answer her, I felt something even scarier happen to me. It’s difficult to explain, but she probed my memories. It was like… I remembered everything I’d ever done up to that point all at once. It wasn’t exactly painful, but it was overwhelming. It was like my brain was overloading on information and I heard myself scream. I wasn’t screaming though, not physically, I was screaming inside of my own head,” he stopped and refocused his eyes onto hers, “Am I making any sense at all? This shit is a lot harder to talk about than I thought it would be.”  
The assassin nodded, “I think you’re doing fine… you can keep going if you want.” Her curiosity was at its height, and she wanted to hear how things had played out, but it also seemed like he wanted to tell her. In a way, whether she wanted to admit it or not, Dayala actually wanted to help the man, and if that meant just listening than she was more than willing to accommodate him.  
He nodded, “Yeah. So, I don’t really know how long that lasted. It could have been hours or days or seconds, but it ended at some point. She spoke to me again immediately afterwards in a way that was far more respectful than I would have thought: You’ve killed a lot of people, she told me, I can recall some of that blood… it seeped into the soil slowly and languidly. The bodies that you burned and the soldiers you’ve buried have broken down like an offering to the planet. You may not realize it, but you’re a wonderful disciple. She laughed then, and it was a sensual laugh. I wasn’t just hearing her words in my head, but I was also feeling the emotions of what she was saying. She was...proud of me. Not only that, but it felt like she was turned on by the fact that I had killed so many people. I wasn’t sure how to feel about any of that, but at that moment, the only thing that I could feel was fear. She must have known that, because she said:Shh, don’t be afraid child. I of all people understand what it’s like to shunned, don’t close your mind to me so fervently. You’ve done so much for me; I wish there were more like you. Would you like to stay here with me? Again, before I could answer her, my body was wracked with an intense, euphoric pleasure. It was more pleasure than I’d ever felt at any point in my life, and it ranged from sexual to the pleasure of mental satisfaction and everything in between. Still, there was some large part of me that rejected the idea of merging with the planet. I’m still not sure how I was able to withstand it, perhaps it was the fact that pleasure in of itself was a thing that had been far removed from me for the course of my existence. Needless to say, she was not pleased me with me, but I could tell that she was further impressed: I see. Your will is too strong to be swayed. I could inflict you with the worst pain imaginable, yet if you can stand up to that much pleasure then the pain will provide you with no challenge. She chuckled, You’re relieved. I am not so sadistic. I am however, saddened. Since you’ve come here to end my life and you will not stay with me, you’ve put me in somewhat of a dilemma. You are an assassin, but you do not know why you were sent here to kill me. It would be foolish of me to send you off, but I don’t want to kill you because… you have done so much for me. Still, I cannot allow you leave unscathed, even I have a reputation to uphold. So… what to do you with you? She asked me the question as she raised me closer to her face. I didn’t know what she had in mind, but I wanted the nightmare to be over. Whatever she had in store for me was going to be worse than her killing me, and I instinctively knew it. Of course, she knew what I was thinking, and she replied to my misgivings like I was a child: You would rather die? No, no, don’t say such things, that would be a terrible waste. I have something fitting for you… something terrible and wonderful. You’ll thank me later, or maybe you will curse me for all of your days. Either way, I feel that this is the right thing for you. For you, my darling… a curse. You live your life by deceit and treachery, for indeed, how else can one such as you live? You don’t know yourself and you don’t know anyone else because you lie to everyone. The lies become real at times, they shift and mold into reality, because even the suggestion of a possibility can sometimes bring that possibility into effect. But now... you will speak the truth when asked. You will not want to lie. Your silence speaks truths in of itself, so you may be silent, but if you are to answer you will answer with the truth. If you lie, you will feel pain equivalent to the severity of your lie, and that severity will be determined by you and you alone. Methlegenothe satiraey ute gishte...saltarie brevin ute gishte. She spoke the words as she drew closer to me. A curse atop a hex, will surely make you vexed, in tongue of impish darkly weaving, sings to you a song bereaving, little peoples tellsies lies, the eyes the eyes of one’s demise, all they takesies from our forest, makesies hasties death to flourish, tellsies tellsies all your lies, till mansies womans realize, no takesies backsies what you says, eatsies lies insides your graves, she pulled her vines out from inside of me then,” Kearn chuckled as he looked down. “She sang that awful song and with every verse I could feel her curse taking hold of me like a vice. There’s more, but I’ll spare you the rest, it’s creepy as hell. Once her tree tentacle had exited my mouth, I could breath again, but before I could inhale she forced her mouth onto mine and kissed me before finishing: Darkly justice feelsies cry, I curse thee worse thee till thou dies. She slipped her fucking tree tongue into my mouth and that was the last thing I remember. I woke up outside the forest, miles from where she was. I managed to get myself back to the nearest town, but it was weeks before I really spoke to anyone. I returned to Lattia to inform them of my failure, but when I arrived I was somewhat surprised to learn that I wasn't expected back.”  
Dayala leaned forward, “How did you learn that?” She was completely engrossed in his tale, and besides Aaron Sayder, it had been ages since she'd had anyone speak with her at such length.  
“I went to my usual informant to set up a meeting with the guild, but when he saw me he went white as a sheet,” Kearn laughed. “He set up the meeting and I was stupid enough to go. At that point, I thought maybe I was just shaken up by the whole Thornpetal incident, so I ignored the red flags. The first thing that tipped me off was that the meeting place was different. That, and the fact that my usual contact had cronies with him. We chatted for awhile and I realized at some point that they didn't intend to let me leave alive. There was nothing they did to warn me, it was just… something I knew. I'm not sure what it was, it's a kind of feeling, but it's more like a smell… When you can sense people's ill intent. You know the feeling, I'm sure.”  
“Yes, I really do,” she agreed with him.  
“Yeah. So, I attacked first. I took two of them down with my first move and had to fight the other directly. It was a brutal fight, and when it was clear that their leader was going down they started firing at me with crossbows. I didn’t know how many there were, but I ran. They chased me for a long time and I ended up killing a few others, but the odds were against me. I went into hiding for several weeks after that night, but eventually I had to resurface. Interestingly enough, I wasn't attacked again by the guild, but something else happened.”  
“Sebille’s guards?” Dayala murmured the question.  
Kearn grinned, “Yep. They were tearing up the whole fucking city looking for me. It seemed that the old man had had enough of pussyfooting around with me. I was able to evade them for the most part, but that was when I decided to relocate to this lovely locale.”  
“So...you can't lie?” Dayala was unable to keep from asking the question any longer.  
“Ah, that. Well, yes, I can, but it's uh...not good for me,” he said carefully. “The last time I tried it my head started to hurt so badly that I almost passed out.  
Dayala nodded as she pursed her lips. She had so many questions for him, but she didn't want to be annoying, even if he did seem open to them.  
Despite her silence, he continued and eventually answered a few of the things that were on her mind, “At first, I thought it would be the end of me. I didn't realize how much I relied on lying until I was no longer able to without something horrible happening to me. For a long time, I spoke to almost no one, but then I realized that I was looking at it from the wrong angle. I felt like my freedom had been taken away, but really, I had somewhat of an advantage. Almost everyone expected me to lie about nearly everything; I mean, really, how many lies have to told within the last few months?”  
“Well, I lie about my name to just about everyone,” she admitted with no shame. “And when people ask you why you've come to a certain place, you can't very well tell them that you're there to kill someone.”  
He laughed, “That's what I thought, but you'd be surprised by how much of an advantage you have when you immediately tell people the truth. It throws them off in all sorts of ways and if you're looking for an opportunity to take them off guard then there's no easier way to do it.”  
Dayala gave him an incredulous look, “Really? Give me an example of when it actually worked in your favor.”  
“Well, what if I told you that all I really want to do right now is put my head between your legs and make you scream with pleasure?”  
The assassin blushed fiercely. It was clear that they were both feeling the effects of the alcohol, but there was no way she could have been prepared for the comment, “I’d say… that you're too candid,” she managed not to stutter as she looked away from him and blinked in surprise.  
Kearn grinned widely and almost cackled, “See? The truth has that effect on most people. If someone like you can't keep their poker face on with a comment like that, then your average guy on the street certainly won't be able to.”  
Dayala could still feel her face burning, and she was upset with herself for not being able to compose herself as quickly as she wanted. Still, she couldn't help but laugh, “I get your point, but you're an asshole.”  
Kearn continued to laugh, “I am, aren't I? I'm sorry, I'll keep my mouth shut from now on.”  
She quieted her laughter and gave him a coy look, “Unless I ask about it?”  
“Unless you ask about it,” he agreed with her.  
For the first time in what might as well have been forever, Dayala was feeling flirtatious. Still, even with the booze to help her relax her decided stringency, she hadn't forgotten her position, “So… you really are trying to level the playing field.”  
“Hm, what do you mean?”  
“I mean, you're really trying to close the gap between me and your clear upper hand. I want to ask more questions, but it seems rude and ungracious of me.”  
“You're worried about being ungracious? That in of itself is worth whatever the hell you wanna ask. We're both a little drunk; maybe me more than you, but ask whatever you want.”  
She adjusted herself on the floor before she began to take her boots off, “Fine. Did you save me just so you could fuck me?”  
He gave her a small smile, “Didn't you ask me that already? Damn, I can't tell if you're an overly vain bitch with absurdly high standards or if you're just a bitter man hating killer who thinks that every man who sees you wants to have sex with you.”  
Once more, his response was disarming, but the intoxicated halfling woman began to laugh boisterously. Her laugh carried on for nearly a full minute, and even when she composed herself enough to speak, she was still giggling, “That's an incredibly transparent thing to say. Honestly, I'm not sure. I don't hate all men, but I haven't had very many good experiences with them. I've been approached by many women as well; I think it has more to do with me unfairly assuming that everyone who's a stranger wants to sleep with me than it does with their gender. I don't think I'm the most immaculately gorgeous woman I've ever seen, but… hell, I guess I got so used to being ogled over that I sort of have to assume. You probably think I'm so full of myself that I can barely see past my nose, and I suppose I can't blame you for that, but I'm really not as pretentious as I seem.” She paused and smiled, “I might be a little hurt, though, if you told me that the thought never crossed your mind.”  
He chuckled and shook his head, “No. The thought definitely crossed my mind, don't get me wrong, but there was way more to it than that. I think… I saw too much of myself in you,” he admitted quietly as he became serious. “I just wanted to talk. I thought it might be nice to… hell, I don't know, actually talk with someone who's been through some similar shit. I couldn't leave you there, but in the end, I'm sure I was doing it for purely selfish reasons. As for why I'm trying to ‘level the playing field’, as you say, I feel like you deserve a fair shot at trying to get yourself killed again in a more legitimate way; assuming there is such a thing.” He looked over her slowly before continuing, “It's true that you're beautiful, but that's not why I fancy you. I meant what I said before: You're like a work of art. You're not the only halfer I've met in my life, and I suspect that you've met a few here and there. I don't know about you, but the one's that I've met were mostly sniveling, pathetic little things that blamed all of their problems on the fact that they were prejudiced against. But you didn't do that. You did something, even if it might have been the wrong thing, you took action and you moved forward. I can't deny how much that resonates with me.” He paused, “You know, even though I'm obligated to tell the truth, it doesn't mean that it's easy for me. When I was in your position… With Thornpetal, I could only think of how stupid I was for going there. If I'm proud of anything, I guess I'm proud of that. What was on your mind when you were about to be torn apart by some weird animals?”  
Dayala shrugged and smiled, “Same. I could only think about how much I’d fucked up. I wouldn't say I'm proud of it, it just is what it is.”  
Kearn nodded, “That's my point, though. Even when faced with death, you still didn't try to blame everyone for the stupid shit that you did. Even if I didn't like you and you were the ugliest, hairiest bastard I'd ever seen, I couldn’t help but respect you. I'm not sure how deep my self realization goes, and I probably had some wild fantasies at the time about nursing you back to health and screwing the daylights out of you, but when I saw you lying there I couldn't just let you die. You deserved something better than that. I did the same thing and I was given a second chance. I don't know if I believe that gods are real or if all this stuff is random, but I felt like, at the very least, I owed it to myself to get you off your ass. A dirty knife from the street wouldn't have been able to get as far as you did, and if you were really there to kill me, I knew that the guild wouldn't send just anyone. I guess I was trying to repay a debt...to both of us.”  
She considered his words for a long moment before nodding, “I never thanked you,” she said softly as her eyes began to feel heavy.  
“You don't need to and I'm not expecting you to.”  
“I know, but it's important to me that you know that I'm grateful. I didn't want to die...I was just resigned.”  
“I hear you. Anyway, speaking of resigned, it looks like you're about ready to pass out. Why don't you settle in for the night?”  
Dayala was feeling progressively light headed, and she nodded, “I'm stealing your bed again… I'd apologize, but I'm not really sorry.”  
Kearn laughed quietly, “That's fine, I'm surprised that the smell doesn't bother you, though.”  
Dayala was already lying down. The alcohol was making its way into her head and she smiled as she closed her eyes, “It smells good. Mint...cloves… something else.”  
“Thyme,” he replied as he rose and began to snuff out the candles. “Goodnight, Dayala,” he added with amusement.  
But the assassin was already asleep.

Dayala slept hard. She was unused to drinking so much at once, and she was still nowhere near completely healed. Due to that fact, she barely felt anything as someone began to shake her.  
“Dayala...wake up,” someone hissed into her ear.  
She thought she might have been dreaming, but as the shaking intensified, she was forced to open her eyes slowly. Her eyelids felt like were made of lead as she groaned softly. Kearn was leaning over her with a look of concern on his face, and he placed his finger over her lips as he whispered, “We’ve got more visitors outside, I think it’s Crowther and a few others. You should be ready for anything, but go about it quietly; I’m going out to speak with them.”  
She was awake immediately as the weight of the situation thrust her into reality. She nodded quickly as he stood, “Stay here. Even if a fight breaks out, you’re in no condition for it,” he added before he took a deep breath. He turned and faced the thick fur that acted as a door and gave her a quick look before he stepped through it with a sweep of his arm.  
After taking a moment to clear the sleep from her eyes, Dayala pulled her boots on and stretched methodically. There was a slight pang of pain in her limbs, and her head protested at her having to get up so quickly, but she shook it off. Regardless of what Kearn had said, if a fight did break out she had no intention of letting the man fight her battles for her, even if he was just saving his own skin.  
As she donned her quiver, she could hear the men speaking outside, though she couldn't clearly make out what was being said. She supposed it was a good sign that no one was shouting, but such conversations could escalate quickly. She strung her bow and tested it with a dry pull before she frowned. She was nowhere near as recovered as she wanted to be, but at least she'd be able to draw well enough to make kills at short distances.  
No sooner had the thought occurred to her when she heard an enraged shout from outside.  
Her hands moved of their own accord as she drew an arrow and readied it. She padded over to the furthest spot away from the door and waited as the shouting persisted. A familiar energy filled the air around her and Dayala knew that there was going to be blood outside, though she had no idea how much… or whose.   
She knew that Kearn could take care of himself, for the most part, but how many extra men had Crowther brought with him? If she simply charged outside, she could very well get both of them killed, but if she stayed, she might be the only one who survived.  
“Dayala, come!”   
Her eyes snapped into focus as she heard her name being called from outside. It was Kearn that had called her, and even though no one else around knew her true name she still had to think twice before she realized that it was him. She rushed outside, as quickly as her body would allow her. With her bow ready, she shunted aside the thick fur that covered the doorway and stepped out.  
Within a second, her eyes gathered in the scene. Crowther was slouched upon the ground a few feet from Kearn with his eyes open and his mouth agape. Four men, one of which she recognized as Ris, were lying on the ground in various positions, all of them seemingly dead.  
“Closer,” Kearn barked at her under his breath before she could piece together what had happened.  
She did so, but she kept her bow at the ready. Although it seemed that Kearn had disposed of his enemies, he was still assuming a defensive stance, which made the assassin wary as she leaned forward.  
“There’s someone out there,” he told her lowly through grit teeth. “I can’t see them, but they shot a dart at Crowther and the rest of his men attacked me when he went down. Can you do anything to find someone who has somehow hidden themselves?”  
“You think that they’re still out there?” She asked, matching his low tone.  
“Yes, definitely. If they fire again, we’ll know where they’re at, but they’re waiting for us to make a move, that’s what my instinct is telling me.”  
“Fine, there’s a few things I can try,” she replied as she shifted her gaze over the garden and into the trees beyond. She slowly replaced her arrow into the quiver on her back and drew another, thinner arrow that had several runes etched onto it, “When the arrow reaches the lowest bough, close your eyes,” she whispered to Kearn as she set it onto the string and drew. “Wait about three seconds then open them and be ready for anything,” With a swift movement, she tilted the bow and fired midway into the trees. The arrow moved soundlessly through the air and Dayala murmured a quick word that would activate one of the runes, “ets.”  
The arrow flashed brightly a moment after she closed her eyes. She hoped that her timing had been right and Kearn had done the same, but it was too late to have any second thoughts. With her eyes still closed, she drew another arrow and readied it.  
In the second she opened her eyes, she heard a metallic clink and the shuffle of Kearn’s movement’s as he rushed forward. Her eyes fell upon a glittering reflection set against one of the nearby trees, and she realized that whoever had fired the dart must have been using some sort of cloaking spell. Whoever, or whatever, it was, was throwing refracted light wildly along the ground and still couldn’t be made out, but they were already raising some sort of weapon at Kearn.  
Kearn moved aside deftly as the unknown attacker shot a bolt in his direction. As Kearn closed the ground between him and the assailant, Dayala loosed an arrow toward the spinning mess of light.  
As the arrow whistled toward the figure, the mass of refracted light moved quickly and thrust a hand out. With a fluid motion, the figure caught the arrow that Dayala had fired and threw it at Kearn.  
Kearn deflected the arrow easily as he charged into the figure with his dagger.  
From her distance, Dayala could only watch. She was still recovering from the fact that someone had actually caught one of her arrows in mid flight, but currently there were far more pressing things to worry about. She feared that if she fired again, she might hit the wrong target, but she readied an arrow just the same.  
Kearn’s blade met with another piece of steel with a pitchy clang. The grey skinned man could see bits of his opponent here and there, but with every passing moment the attacker was becoming more and more difficult to see.  
The assassin’s mind raced. It appeared that the person who had attacked them was using some sort of runic magic, but if that were the case, it would have been impossible for them to maintain the spell after she’d used a spark rune. Light refraction spells were unstable at best, and could be easily thrown off by a sudden flash of bright light, but it looked as if the attacker was recovering the spell at an alarming rate.  
Kearn exchanged several blows with the attacker, but was on the defensive. In the blink of an eye, he drew one of his throwing knives and chucked it into his opponent in an effort to break their defense. He was mildly surprised to see the attacker raise his arm and block the knife with his wrist, “Hm,” he commented dryly as he went in to try another series of attacks.  
Dayala reached for her quiver and produced two more of the thin runic arrows. She’d never tried evoking two runes at a time on separate arrows, but she had to try something. She nocked both arrows at once, one on top of the other, with a finger’s width between them, before she drew and loosed. The two arrows traveled toward the lowest bough of the tree that Kearn was currently fighting under, and Dayala spoke the words needed to activate the runes one after the other, “Ets, sohg!”  
One of the arrows flashed as it had before, but Kearn was beneath it. He could see the flash as he exchanged blows with his quickly disappearing opponent, but a moment later he heard a high pitched whine coming from overhead.  
The mysterious assailant began to shimmer into view as the spell weakened once more. Then, with another flash, it seemed that the spell had been broken all together.  
The figure revealed was dressed in a tight cloth garb that was riddled with bits of padded leather. The figure’s face was wrapped as well, save for their eyes, which glimmered with mal intent. Now that his opponent was revealed, Kearn came into the offensive and attacked once more. The attacker, despite having his cover taken away, defended himself with ease, blocking Kearn’s attempts to open his defense and making counter attacks of his own.  
Dayala had never seen anyone fight so quickly or with so much precision. She watched as both fighters fell into rhythm with each other, each of them attacking and defending in turn as they sliced their way toward each other. Neither one of them gave much ground, and both of them possessed superb footwork as they danced around each other.  
Kearn feigned left before going for a thrust, but his opponent caught the move and parried it before attempting a counter attack of his own. The seasoned ex-assassin stepped back and transferred his weapon to his left hand as he dove forward and made a lunge. The armored assassin smacked Kearn’s wrist downward and brought his weapon close to strike from above, but Kearn was already moving out of the way as he threw himself sideways.  
Dayala saw her chance and reacted. She drew and fired into the armored assailant, who was about twenty yards away. Kearn rolled out of a somersault and rose as he drew two throwing knives, one with each hand. Their opponent span out of the way of the arrow and raised his arms to defend himself from Kearn’s knives.  
Kearn flicked his right hand toward the man, then his left, then his right once more, as if he had thrown three knives. His hands had moved blindingly quickly, and Dayala blinked as she saw the man go down.  
Kearn sprang up and meandered over to the man he'd allegedly just killed. With a grunt of irritation, he kicked the man's weapon aside and pinned his arms down with both his feet before kneeling in front of him.  
“He's dead,” Kearn told Dayala, just loud enough for her to hear him.  
Dayala looked around warily and walked over. Kearn’s knife was sunk deeply into the man’s throat, and only a little blood was seeping from the wound, “Who is he?”  
Kearn shook his head, “Let's find out.”  
The ex-assassin pulled at the deceased man’s wraps to reveal a haggard looking face, “I recognize this man… he worked with Sebille.”  
Dayala took a deep breath, “Then I must have been followed,” She said it hollowly, as if she were disappointed in herself.  
Kearn began to pick around the man's belongings, “Don't feel bad, this man was one of Sebille’s best. He was no slouch with the fight either, but in the end he couldn't fight both of us,” he paused as he turned the dead man and furrowed his brow, “Hm, ever seen anything like this?”  
Upon the man’s waist, Dayala could see a bauble that looked oddly like a music box. It was dull grey in color and unmarked, “No, can’t say that I have.” She gave him a cursory look, “Do you always immediately loot your opponents, even as their bleeding out?”  
Kearn chuckled, “I do when I have something I need to learn. Here,” he unclipped the box from the man’s belt and handed it up to Dayala, “Take a look at that, I have a feeling you’ll be able to figure out what it is faster than me.”  
She took the box wordlessly and opened it carefully, being sure to hold it away from her face. Inside, she was amazed to see a series of mechanical switches and gears. Tiny metallic prongs were set in a line down the middle of the box, and a roll of thin metal was wound around a tiny axle with miniature etchings on it. She inspected it more closely and realized that it might as well have been a music box, but there was something peculiar about it, “Kearn… there are runes etched into this thing,” she told him as she winced down at it, “The same runes I would use for the same sort of spell, only this device seems to be able to cast the spell automatically and maintain it for an undetermined amount of time.”  
Kearn stood from the dead man and faced her, “Intriguing. How did you know which runes to use in order to combat it?”  
She shook her head, “I didn’t, it was just an educated guess. Normally, these kinds of spells are unstable and can be easily thrown off. Even sunlight can cause them to dispel easily, so there’s only a few occasions which I’ve ever used them. this is different though, it’s like a machine that stabilizes and maintains the field around the user. I’d have to test it out further, but I’m definitely going to hang on to this if it’s alright with you.”  
“Fine by me,” Kearn smiled as he took up the man’s compact hand crossbow, “I’m taking a few things of my own. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have any information with him, which isn’t surprising, and we can’t exactly have a chat with him.”  
Dayala frowned as she looked over at the group of dead Skettonites. Seeing Crowther on the ground saddened her slightly. He was only trying to protect his daughter, but his over bearing nature had turned out to be his downfall.  
“We need to leave… today,” Kearn told her quietly as he looked at the bodies along with her. “Crowther was a good man, he deserved better. The rest, I don’t know, but Ris was kind of a whiner.”  
Dayala didn’t know whether or not to laugh or strike the man, “They say that you’re not supposed to speak ill of the dead, but most people at least wait until the corpse isn’t present.”  
Kearn sniffed, “Dead is dead, hunter. I never meant for this to happen, neither did they,” he said with a gesture, “But it is what it is, as you like to say.” He turned his head down to the man he’d only minutes before been fighting with and tapped him with his boot, “Even this fellow here is aftermath for my mistakes… don’t blame yourself.”  
Dayala wasn’t blaming herself exactly, but she wondered if the man was still capable of feeling guilt as she followed him back inside.

“How well are you feeling?”  
Dayala almost laughed at the question, “Not as well as I’d like. If you’re asking me if I’m going to pass out on you before we get out of the Sketton, then the answer is no. I’ve been more tired and sick and have made it further distances, but it’s the animals I’m worried about.”  
“Don’t be,” Kearn said flatly as he moved about one of his tables. He took bits of herbs from several bunches that hung from the ceiling and threw them into his mortar before adding some sort of dark powder. As he ground up the mixture, he continued to speak, “I was hoping we’d be able to wait a little while longer, but I wasn’t expecting a second, let alone Crowther to show up at my door. I really wasn’t expecting to be attacked either, but it played out. You might very well have saved my life back there, so thanks,” he added with an even tone.  
The assassin pursed her lips, “You would have made it without me, I’m sure.”  
“Oh yeah? Maybe,” Kearn chuckled, “It’s pretty damn hard to fight against an invisible, or partially invisible, enemy. I’m not sure what happened, but maybe he was tired of waiting, or maybe he was out of resources and needed to act. Regardless, when Crowther and his boys don’t show up at home, someone else is going to come looking for them and we need to be gone by then.”  
“What is a second, exactly?” Dayala asked suddenly as she watched Kearn grind the herbs.  
Kearn grinned, “I’m sorry, I forget that you've been doing the lone wolf thing for your entire career. A second is basically a guy they send out to make sure the first guy they sent out doesn't fuck up. Usually, it's someone more experienced, and in some cases, someone who was meant to finish the job all along. In your case, he was probably sent to kill both of us, or just me. It's possible that he thought you were dead already, especially when you went charging off on your own. I don't think there's a single man in the guild who would have followed you down that tree and into the darkness,” he laughed again. “The poor bastard probably didn't pick up your trail after that; he must have waited till Crowther came to visit. I'm just guessing at this point, of course.”  
She nodded as she processed what the ex-assassin had told her. The idea that she'd been followed without her knowledge was still disturbing her, but the idea that there could be others bothered her even more.  
Kearn took up a clay cup and filled it with hot water. Afterwards, he mixed in the powder he’d made and handed it to Dayala, “Here. It’s gonna taste like shit, but it’ll keep you going for awhile.”  
She took the drink and gulped it down quickly. It wasn’t nearly as putrid as she was expecting it to be, but it certainly didn’t go down easily. He gave her a normal cup of tea to drink afterwards, and as she drank it he went about the task of gathering supplies.  
“We’ll leave as soon as I’m done packing,” he told her calmly as he began to untie some of the herbs from the ceiling.  
“Where?” She asked distantly before she sipped the tea.  
“Anywhere but here. Out of the Sketton, but ideally nowhere that you’ve stopped along the way,” he chuckled, “I don’t suppose that leaves many options.”  
“There is one place,” she replied a moment later. “Remember the camp I told you about? The one where the gnome and I fought the Grollock?”  
“Hm, yes, I remember.”  
“It’s a good spot. There’s shelter and a place to build a fire. It’s about three hours worth of a walk from the outskirts of the forest; I’m fairly certain that if you could get me out in that direction I could drag myself the rest of the way.”  
The ex-assassin pawed at his unshaven chin, “Yes, that could work, but we’ll have to move around the town.”  
She heard the concern in her host’s voice, and she took a deep breath, “I can make it.”  
“You’re gonna have to,” he agreed with her.

Less than ten minute later, the odd pair of killers set out. Kearn had packed as much of his produce as he could, but otherwise he had taken very little from his long time home. Dayala had volunteered to carry some of his things, but he insisted that he didn’t need anything else.  
The assassin did fine for the first mile, but halfway into the second, she began to feel fatigued. She pushed back her frustration and matched Kearn’s pace, knowing full well that time was of the essence.  
It wasn’t until they reached mile four that she began to feel light headed. Kearn offered her some water and another dose of some sort of herbal concoction, which she took gratefully.  
Kearn led them away from the city of trees at a certain point, and Dayala got the chance to see an entirely new side of the forest. The mushrooms that had granted light to the villagers were becoming more and more prevalent as they moved in a different directions, and soon they were not only abundant in number, but in size as well. The assassin couldn’t help but marvel at the sheer size of some of the mushrooms; several of them towered up to some of the lower boughs of the trees.  
“They’re pretty impressive, aren’t they?” Kearn asked at some point.  
“They really are. I had no idea they would be here; I’ve only read about the mushroom mines in Ketta, but I never thought I’d get to see one of these in person.”  
“I think the problem is that most mycologists that come out this far never make it back,” Kearn laughed. “In fact, I think…” he stopped speaking quickly as he placed his hand on her arm, “Let’s stop for a moment.”  
Dayala did as she was told and glanced around. The strange light that the mushrooms emitted caused the entire area to appear green and otherworldly, and she strained her ears to hear any sign of what had made the ex-assassin stop. She heard a faint shuffling, but it was growing louder by the second. She inhaled deeply as she saw Kearn move for his flute.  
“Don’t make any sudden movements,” he whispered. “I don’t have any runes etched out this far, so I don’t know how well this will go.”  
Dayala remembered a previous conversation they’d had and leaned closer to him, “I can help.”  
Kearn blinked,”How?”  
“Perhsia’s folly,” she replied lowly as she dropped slowly to the ground. Her eyes were heavy and she was already feeling plenty sore, but she wasn’t about to let herself die after coming so far.  
“I don’t think we have time,” Kearn hissed as he saw movement behind one of the mushroom.  
“Just play,” she answered him as she drew her hunting knife and began to draw upon the hard soil.  
Kearn did, and as he played, a Grollock came into view. It was followed by a second, then a third, and all of them were heading towards them. The creature’s weren’t running, and none of them looked as if they were in any particular rush, but it was clear that they’d come over to investigate and would probably conclude that they’d just found dinner.  
As Kearn played, Dayala continued to draw. She dug the knife into the soil as a bead of sweat began to form on her forehead. She dragged it against the ground as she began to move. Her progress was slow, and she forced herself to concentrate as she saw the beasts approaching. It had taken nearly all of her skill to take one of the creature’s down in the darkness, and that was with help. She didn’t have to consider their odds for very long against three of the creatures, so she continued to draw fervently.  
Kearn kept his eyes on the beasts as they came closer. They were almost within throwing distance, and he feared that his airy tune wouldn’t be enough to deter the group. They seemed to slow slightly as they moved forward, but none of them turned back.  
Dayala set her jaw determinedly as she circled widely around her uncommon companion. She was nearly halfway finished, but she’d never drawn such a large rune before, and she had no idea if it would work or not. if any of the lines were incomplete, it would greatly affect the power of the rune. There was even a possibility that if it was too unevenly drawn, that it wouldn’t work at all. She pushed her surfacing doubts away from her mind however, as she continued to work.  
Kearn played louder. With every passing second he was growing more concerned, and if they waited any longer than neither one of them would have any chance of escaping. He paused between notes as he said quickly, “We… need… to...run…”  
“I’m almost finished!” Dayala practically screamed as she dragged the knife raggedly through the soil. “Just a few more seconds, now play, dammit!”  
With a gruff breath, Kearn repositioned the flute and played as hard as he could. The Grollock were only a few yards away, and as they lumbered forward they began to paw at the ground, as if they were going to charge.  
Dayala could scarcely breathe as she dug into the soil with the blade once more. With a grunt, she completed one last line and closed her eyes.  
Kearn’s eyes, however, went wide as the ground beneath him began to glow dully. The loudness of his flute playing increased greatly, and it seemed to be gaining volume at an astonishing rate. Within seconds, his single flute sounded like an orchestra of flutes playing within an amphitheater. The airy, high pitched sounds bounced off the dense wood and echoed long and hard into the surrounding forest. The creatures growled and shuffled their feet as they began to back away.  
Dayala was forced to cover her ears as the sound intensified. It wasn’t just loud, it was a sound that filled the air with vibrations, and it was almost painful even through her hands.  
Kearn winced as his ears began to hurt, but still he continued to play. The Grollock appeared to be experiencing pain as well, and all three of them began to turn as they grunted and swayed their heads from side to side in obvious turmoil.  
Kearn’s lungs began to burn as he expelled every bit of oxygen in his lungs. The beasts were retreating now, but he wanted them to be well away from them before they started moving again. He played for as long as he was able until he coughed and lowered the flute to his side. Panting hard, he offered Dayala his hand in order to help her up. She accepted it, and after they’d both gotten to their feet they ran off in the direction they’d been headed in, both of their ears ringing.

By the time they made it out of the Sketton, Dayala could barely move her legs. Somehow, she had forgotten about the weather that she’d had to deal with before she entered the forest, but it seemed that the weather didn’t care. The rain poured in literal sheets as the two approached the gnome’s shack. The assassin could scarcely believe that they’d made it once it came into view, and her legs nearly gave out beneath her as they entered.  
The shelter was empty, as it had been before, and Kearn quickly went about the work of making a fire. Both of them were completely soaked, and Dayala was beginning to shiver.  
Finally, the fire sparked into existence and Dayala huddled in front of it. She could feel herself relapsing into some of the symptoms she'd had before, and it was everything she could do to keep from shuddering.  
“I'll make you something hot to drink,” Kearn said lowly, his voice barely audible over the sound of the rain overhead. “At the risk of sounding like I'm trying to get you naked, the sooner you get out of those clothes the better.”  
She nodded. She was far too tired to be embarrassed as she shrugged out of her equipment and undid her tunic. The wet fabric clung to her clammy skin in the most uncomfortable way, and she made a face as she peeled her arms out of it. Shakily, she stood and began to peel out of her pants as well.  
Kearn worked in silence as he produced the single cooking pot he'd brought with him, “It's going to be a long night, you should take your rest. I'll wake you up when the food’s done.”  
She said nothing as she lied down beside the fire wearing only her wraps. Within a minute, she was asleep.

The smell of vegetable stew woke her some time later. Her eyes opened on their own as her stomach growled lowly, reminding her of how hungry she was.  
“That's a good sign,” Kearn said with amusement as her eyes came into focus. The fire was substantially higher than it was when she'd fallen asleep, and it looked as if her traveling companion had made himself comfortable. Like her, he was wearing only the barest of clothing, and it appeared that he had not only laid out his things to dry, but had laid out hers as well.  
“Here,” he handed her a cup. “Drink this and I'll get you some food in a minute.”  
She raised herself to a sitting position and took the cup. The warm liquid inside did quite a bit to revive her, and she clutched it with both hands as she sipped it.  
“I'd almost forgotten how hard it can rain outside the forest,” he told her indifferently, as if he were talking to himself. “I hope you're feeling a bit better. Do you think the gnome will mind us using his shelter?”  
Dayala looked up at him as her eyes began to gain some alacrity, “No, as long as we replace some of the wood we use, I don't think he'll mind.”  
“Good,” the ex assassin commented dryly. He stirred the contents of the pot and went quiet.  
Through a haze of smoke and steam, Dayala absently looked over the man. It was obvious that he was lean, but there were a few muscles on his body that were over developed, like his calves and deltoids. He was attractive enough, but his entire body was riddled with scars and gouge marks, and Dayala wondered just how many near death experiences the grey skinned man had experienced. She had always been able to end such dangers before they really became a threat, until recently. Kearn, however, was a man who liked to rush into a fight head on, unless he had the opportunity for stealth. She found it curious that they could be so similar and yet so different, and she began to laugh lowly as the realization hit her.  
“Something funny?” He asked with a slight smile as he handed her a clay bowl of soup.  
“No, just my mind wandering.”  
He nodded,”I hope you like the soup. It’s sort of a last hurrah from my garden; I used all the good stuff.”  
She brought the bowl to her lips and sipped at the broth. It was surprisingly good, and she quickly took another sip, “Tastes like it was made in one of those imperial cafes,” she commented as she went for more.  
He chuckled noncommittally, “I’m glad you enjoy it. I don’t take much pride in most things but I’m a little proud of my ability to make good food from nothing.”  
“I never go through that much trouble, I just spit roast whatever I can find,” she commented with a tired grin as she continued to eat the soup.

After she’d had her fill, Dayala was feeling much better. Her body was still so sore that even the thought of moving would cause her to groan, so instead she planted herself on the ground beside the fire and stared into it. Neither one of them spoke as Kearn cleared the mess of the meal. Strangely, while her body was exhausted, her mind was sharp, and as she stared into the fire she considered how she would go about bringing up the inevitable subject of when and where they would part ways. During their trek, she’d been thinking about the two of them and she wondered what he really thought of her. Regardless, she knew what she had to say, though the words didn’t come easily as she finally broke the silence, “I’ve been doing quite a bit of thinking.”  
He faced her as he finished packing the bowls into his fur pack, “Not surprising, you’re the thinking sort.”  
She ignored his comment with a hair thin smile before she became serious, I remember what you said about Sebille and the council, and I don’t think there would be anything to gain by killing him. That being said, I still think we should pay him a visit.”  
“Oh?” He looked over at her through the fire. “I honestly can't tell if you're joking or not, but if we go back there we won't come out alive.”  
She nodded slowly, “Hear me out. I don't want to run away for the rest of my life. I don't know what you were planning on doing after this or where you were planning on going, but I don't like the idea of waiting around for Sebille to die and hiding out in the furthest reaches of the continent until he does. If I decide that I want to go to Lattia, I want to be able to walk through the front gates, not slink in through the sewers.” She took a deep breath, “If you can get me into his room...I can hypnotize him. We can tell him to do whatever it is we want him to, even if its just to leave us alone. I have no interest in toppling the council, corrupt as it may be. Honestly, I don't care who is in power: a king, a council, doesn't make a damn difference to me. I do, however, care about my freedom.”  
Kearn was quiet for a long moment before he replied, “You’re really serious about this?”  
“I am.”  
“And then what? We tell Sebille to go fuck himself and he leaves us alone and then what?”  
She sighed, “Then...whatever you want, Kearn. We go our separate ways or we don't, but either way you won't have one of the world's most powerful Monarchs breathing down your neck.”  
“I see your point, but… this plan is fucking crazy, Dayala.”  
“Which part?”  
“All of it. We're talking about getting into one of the most heavily guarded towers in the entire city.”  
“Yeah, so? I know you said that you had help before, but I’d be willing to bet that if we had enough time and could pull together the right resources, you could pull it off. You’re going to have a hard time convincing me otherwise, and you’d have to downplay your experience. So if it’s not a question of ability, are you just scared?”  
“Hell yes. You should be scared to.”  
She sighed once more as exasperation set in, “Kearn, let me ask you something. Do you like me?”  
He moved his eyes away from her at the suddenness of the question, “I told you already that I did.”  
“I like you as well. In fact, I like you enough to think that we might be able to spend a little more time together, so here's a little truth for you. I think you're krass and assuming. I think you're too self assured and you're ingloriously reckless when it comes to your own safety. So, you must be worried about me, am I wrong?”  
“No… you're not wrong.”  
“Good. So, here's a business proposition for you. I'm fucking tired, Kearn. I'm tired of living alone and working for no reason other than just to stay alive. I'm not sure I can function in a traditional relationship, but I'm fairly certain that you wouldn't be able to either. What I am proposing is that we become partners. We can travel together and take jobs together. We can sleep in the same bed and we can fuck and drink and eat with each other like civilized people and if it doesn't work out then we can disband. I can teach you everything I know about runes and in return you can teach me about poisons. I'm not asking you to love me, and frankly, I'm not sure I'm even capable of it myself, but I believe that it’s worth a try.”  
For nearly a full minute, the shelter was silent save for the sound of the fire and the rain overhead. When Kearn finally spoke his voice sounded dull and hollow, “I won't be able to lie to you, Dayala, you'll have to live with that.”  
“I will. I know it won't be easy, and we'll fight a lot… probably more often than not, but I think you and I are the closest thing to happiness that either one of us has ever encountered.”  
He shook his head, “What if I say no?”  
She felt a stab of pain in her emotions, but she sneered tiredly, “Why would you, because you’re too scared to try? I’ll tell you what, if you can give me a legitimate reason as to why you would say no, then I’ll stop talking about it right now and I’ll never bring it up again.”  
He set his jaw, “I can’t. I want to, but I don’t have a reason.”  
“Then why are you so hesitant? Do you think I’m out of my mind and my reasoning is being clouded?”  
“No.”  
“Then what are you afraid of?”  
He pressed his lips together and sighed, “I don’t know. I’ve never done this before, Dayala. When you’ve convinced yourself for long enough that you’re going to be alone for the rest of your life you can’t help but believe it. I’m always looking for a catch or some sort of negative aspect, so you’ll have to forgive me if I don’t jump on this right away.”  
“You can think about it,” she said with a slight bit of defeat in her tone. She didn’t have the energy to argue with him, and she understood that she was asking him to make a major life change.  
Once more silence fell over the room as both of them stared into the fire. After a while, Kearn cleared his throat and asked lowly, “The color of my skin doesn’t bother you?”  
She found the question to be both endearing and comedic, and she laughed tiredly, “No, I like the color of your skin.”  
“Really?” He looked surprised.  
“Really.”  
“I used to spend a lot of time in brothels. That doesn’t bother you?”  
She laughed once more, “It does, but I understand why. Did you ever fall for any of those girls or was it just about sex?”  
He gave her a curious glance as he chuckled, “No, I never did. Thinking about it now, I can’t believe how sappy I was; in the end, I think I was just getting so lonely that I couldn’t stand it anymore.”  
“Sappy?”  
“Oh, you’re going to laugh at me, please don’t ask.”  
She grinned, “No, you’re not getting that kind of mercy from me. What did you do with the prostitutes?”  
“Gah,” he groaned. He adjusted himself on the ground and pinched the bridge of his nose, “You may not believe me, but I liked to spend a little time working on their sore muscles. It sounds strange, and it probably is, but some of those girls work harder in one day than most aristocrats do in their entire life. Most of the time we didn’t fuck, I’d just lay them down and massage them for a while, and I’ll be damned if every single one of them didn’t say that I wasn’t their favorite client,” he snickered before his expression flattened, “I knew what I was, and so did they, but those girls get paid to act like they're in love with everyone. I suppose I did what I did because I loved hearing the sounds they made. If you make love to a whore, she's going to moan and groan like you're the best she's ever had, but it gets annoying after awhile and I couldn't stand the facade at a certain point. But, when I put hands on them… I knew the sounds they were making were real. I couldn't be honest with myself at the time, but I can admit now that the real reason I enjoyed it was because it made me feel wanted. I could imagine, for just a minute, that the woman whose legs were wrapped around me actually wanted me around, and that was pleasurable for me. Pretty stupid, I know, but that's why I did it.”  
The assassin nodded slowly, “I understand. There was definitely a time when I relished the approval of others. When I first moved away from my childhood home, I secretly loved all the attention I received. I learned pretty quickly that if I covered my ears then people weren't as likely to notice that I was of mixed blood. The enjoyment turned to agitation pretty quickly, and it took years for me to psychologically recover from what had been done to me.”  
“How many lovers have you taken?”  
Dayala’s lips turned upwards to their most extreme point as she laughed, “Lovers? None, Kearn, zero. If you're asking me how many men I've slept with, the answer is a number so small that it would be your turn to laugh at me.”  
“Well, shit, now I have to know.”  
She pursed her lips, “Fine. In the interest of maintaining our bizarre truth telling, I'll tell you. There was the first one, the one I killed. The second was a man I met in Yentar; I was drinking and he was dancing with with me, if you can believe there was ever a time where I would dance, and I woke up beside him the next morning. I was in my forties when that happened. The third, and most recent, was with a wonderful man named Zaleh. He was a merchant and he hired me to escort him through Quartesh. We spent weeks alone together and I think the solitude got to both of us. It was consensual, in case you were wondering, and he knew I was a halfling. I think he would have tried to stay with me, but we both knew that it could never work between us. It wasn't love, though...it never got that far.”  
“So… three people?”  
She nodded, “Go ahead, I’m ready for judgement.”  
Kearn shook his head, “Fuck.”  
“Yeah,” She agreed with him, seconding his dismay.  
“And you think I would be a good edition to this list?”  
She glanced up at him and laughed before she fell into a bout of coughing, “It’s different with you. You won’t be dead by the time I hit my fifties again.”  
Kearn stared down at his hands and flicked his fingers back and forth rhythmically, “So… you’re thinking along the lines of a long term sort of arrangement?”  
“Why not?”  
“Where would we go?”  
“I thought about that. If you don’t have anything pressing to do, which I very much doubt that you do, I’d like to travel to Dwarf country and see if I can find my father. We had a falling out before I went off to live on my own and I haven’t seen him since I was girl… that’s over fifty years ago. I’d like to patch things up with him before he dies, assuming he’s still alive.”  
“That sounds noble.”  
“He’s the only family I’ve ever had.”  
The ex-assassin nodded, “Sounds fine. So, just to reiterate, we’re going back to Lattia. We’re going to find a way to infiltrate Sebille’s tower and we’re going to hypnotize him into leaving us alone forever then we’re gonna make a thousand mile journey to see if your father is still alive. Did I get all that?”  
“Yes, that’s about the size of it. I told you that you don’t need to come to a conclusion tonight; it’s a standing offer for as long as we’re together.”  
He considered her through the flames for a long moment, “There’s no amount of thinking that will help me make a conclusion...sign me up. I think you're bat shit crazy, but If you’re willing to risk your life for your freedom than I’ll be damned if I’m not willing to do the same.”  
Dayala took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment. She was far too done in to feel anything but a slight wave of nervousness, but she pushed through it easily, “Great.”  
“Good.”  
More silence ensued before Kearn spoke again, “So… what now?”  
“Oh, I suppose we’re an item now,” Dayala gave him a thin smile. “Now it’s time for you to come over here and prove to me if you’re really as good at massaging as you say you are: my neck is fucking killing me.”  
Kearn stood and walked around the fire. He sat behind her and tentatively placed his hands on her shoulders, “It’s been a long time.”  
When the assassin felt her partner’s hands against her skin, a tingling sensation went through her, “Does that statement have a double meaning?”  
“Definitely,” she heard him say as he began to move his fingers over her.  
True to his word, he was as good as he claimed to be, and she tried hard not to gasp as he began to find the spots on her neck and shoulders that needed the most work.  
“When you kill people for a living, you learn a few things about the body,” he spoke softly as he worked behind her. “It’s sort of like the garden for me: it feels good to fix something sometimes instead of destroying it.”  
“Are you saying that I’m broken?” she murmured softly as she held in a groan.  
“Both of us are, but that goes without saying.”  
The massage was both painful and pleasurable, and her defenses were as low as her energy level. Kearn worked over her neck with a bit more force and at some point she was unable to hold in a sigh of relief.  
“Oh, so you’re not as mechanical as you seem,” he commented with a chuckle as he continued to methodically move his fingers against her.  
“You need to give me a fucking break; it’s been a long time for me too… asshole,” she spoke between gasps as she smiled and finally let go of her some of her inhibitions.  
“Fair, but seriously, you need to relax,” he leaned into her as his movements became more firm, “Are you always this tense?”  
“Probably.”  
He worked over her for a while longer until she felt her knots begin to loosen. Then, he backed up a little to give her some space as he said, “Now, stretch your neck and shoulders a little, they should be a bit better.”  
She did so and found that he was right: she felt much better.  
He placed his hands on her upper back and gently pressed his nails into her skin as he began to scratch.  
“Wha, wha...what are you doing?” She stuttered heavily as an intense wave of shock and pleasure wracked her.  
“Does it hurt?”  
“N,no,” she replied slowly. She was certain that her body was punishing her for having gone an eternity without intimacy of any kind, but a part of her was loathe to admit it.  
As if he’d read her thoughts, he leaned forward and almost whispered, “It’s fairly normal to be overly sensitive after such a long time. What are you trying to prove?”  
She had no idea, “This isn’t part of the massage, is it?”  
“No, this is just me enjoying making you squirm. Should I stop?”  
“No...please don't,” the words were out of her mouth before she could stop them in a tone far more desperate than she'd anticipated.  
“May I kiss you? I’d really like to.”  
“Yes,” she looked down into her lap and listened to sounds of the rain overhead. She knew that she was probably running a fever again, and her head was cloudy, but she leaned back into him as a deep, long suppressed aching surfaced inside of her. She closed her eyes as she felt his lips press against the base of her neck. There was no energy left in her to resist the sensation, and as he kissed further up her neck she moaned softly, “Kearn… I can barely move.”  
“You don't have to.”  
Before she could reply, she felt his hand brush her hair aside before he settled his teeth gently onto her earlobe.  
Dayala set her jaw as her eyes began to well with tears of pleasure. His hot breath was heavy with the smell of herbs, and she was able to admit to herself that she liked it. Slowly, he moved his hands over her body as he kissed all over her shoulders.  
“Too much?” He asked her tremulously.  
“No, but… I'm so tired,” she said with a gasp, “I can't stay awake.”  
He leaned her back gently as he moved out from behind her, “I'm putting you to sleep right now… just relax.”  
She shook her head as he lowered her onto the hard ground. There was something soft under her head, though she couldn't remember seeing him bring his bedroll over.  
“Dayala… I won't make any promises I can't keep, but I swear to you… I'll never step foot into a brothel while we're together.” His words were quiet and honest, and as he spoke she could feel him running his hands over her bare legs.  
She swallowed hard as her breath caught.  
“I'm not trying to fuck you...I’d like to wait until we can do it properly; I think you deserve something much nicer than this place. I can’t really keep myself away from you, though,” his voice wavered as he began to slide down her body.  
The assassin parted her lips and uttered a long, drawn out sigh as Kearn positioned himself between her legs. He kissed her thighs as he moved them apart before he took hold of the knot on her wrap with a guttural breath.  
Dayala closed her eyes languidly and did nothing to stop him. She felt the cold air coupled with the heat of the fire as she was exposed, but there was no time for her to feel embarrassment as she felt his tongue on her. Having nothing to fuel her pretenses, she gasped wantonly before she heard herself cry out into the night.

Epilogue

A single horse drawn carriage came to a stop in front a handsome looking home. The structure itself was too small to be a mansion, but it had the appearance of one, and it belonged to the man who stepped out of the carriage.  
It had been an interesting six months for Aaron Sayder. Almost overnight, his life had gone from calm and lonesome to fast paced and full colored.  
He paid the driver with a smile and a nod before making his way through the gate and up the path that led to his front door.  
Before he could produce his key, the door was opened by a tall, exotic looking woman with dark skin, “Aaron, there you are. You’re later than I’d hoped you would be.”  
Aaron pushed through the door with a laugh and embraced the woman, “Did you miss me that much?”  
She gave him a wry smile, “Yes, but that’s not the point. I made some biscuits and they’re most likely cold and hard by now.”  
Aaron closed the door and relinquished the woman before shrugging out of his coat, “I wasn’t intending for our luncheon to take so long, Ayeltah, I hope you’ll forgive me. It it makes you feel any better, I’ll eat every last biscuit, cold or otherwise.”  
“It’s fine… they’re not very good anyhow,” she laughed. “Come, sit down and tell me all the gossip while I make you some tea.”

Aaron settled into the den as his wife went about making tea. He was still having a difficult time grasping the fact that he was married, considering that a little over half a year prior he was using a matchmaking service.  
He remembered briefly the morning he had left from his last date there and he shook his head with small huff of bewilderment. There was a woman whom he’d had a fantastic night with, but he could scarcely remember anything about her. He had awoken on that morning feeling more than just a little confused. He was convinced that he’d slept with the woman, but he had no memories of it, and he was sure that he hadn’t drunk so much liquor as to cloud his memory entirely. What was truly strange, however, was that although he remembered having the best night of his life, he had no desire to seek the woman out for a second date, and he hadn’t heard anything from or about her since.  
None of that mattered now. Only a few weeks after that incident, he had met Ayeltah at an antique auction. She’d been sitting away from him while the auction was being conducted, and he could only stare at her the entire time. In fact, he’d lost out on a set of silverware he was intending to buy, because he couldn’t focus on the bidding.  
Up to that point, Aaron had seen many beautiful, intelligent women at various auctions and other high class events, but never in his life had he been able to muster the courage to approach any of them. This time, oddly enough, was different. After the auction, he was astonished to find himself moving toward her, almost against his will. He introduced himself and they began to talk about their work. She was a historian and a literary translator, and he fell for her almost immediately. He asked her out to dinner, and to his dismay, she agreed. Several weeks later, they saw each other almost every day, and a few short months later, they were married.  
Aaron’s friends and acquaintances thought he’d gone mad. It was so unlike the antique collector to do anything so headstrong, but Aaron didn’t care a whim for anyone else thought. Ayeltah had given him the courage he’d needed to start selling his own merchandise instead of using contractors, and his life had been immensely better since.   
“Here we are,” Aaron heard his wife say as she entered the room with a tray. She set it down and poured him a cup before pouring herself one, “Now, tell me all about your little gab with your friends.”  
He laughed as he took up the saucer, “You’re so nosy.”  
“Yes, but this is how I get all my news and it keeps me away from the gossiping ladies at the University.”  
“Very well. Actually, the reason it took me so long is because there’s a lot of news. News that isn’t out to the public yet.”  
The woman’s eyes narrowed, “And? Are you trying to build suspense, Aaron. Because I’m likely to throw my spoon at you.”  
“Fine, I’ll get to the good stuff,” Aaron chuckled before he lowered his voice. “Apparently, Monarch Sebille is retiring.”  
“Oh? That is news,” Ayeltah looked slightly surprised as she settled back into the high chair. “Any reason why?”  
“No one knows for sure, but people are saying that he’s been acting strange lately. I spoke with Bradys and he told me that Sebille’s tower had been broken into a few nights ago, but that Sebille was unhurt.”  
“How is that accomplished? Short of pushing up siege weapons, of course?”  
Aaron shrugged, “Bradys told me that the guards found evidence the morning after that his tower had been infiltrated. There was an anchor driven into the ground and a rope that was fastened all the way up into Sebille’s room through the window.”  
“Hm. That means that at least two people had to have been involved,” the historian mused before taking a sip of her tea.  
“Yes. What’s even more interesting is that nothing was stolen and of course Sebille himself was unharmed. Their trying to figure out the motive, but so far there doesn’t seem to be one.”  
“Do you think the people that did it might have just been trying to send a message?”  
“It’s possible, though that’s a pretty cryptic message.”  
Ayeltah laughed, “Seems fairly clear to me. A message like that says something along the lines of ‘I could have killed you but I didn’t so don’t fuck with me’.”  
Aaron’s eyebrow went up, “Do you talk like that around your colleagues?”  
“No, just around you,” she replied with a daring smile.  
Aaron swallowed hard as he cleared his throat with a smile, “Anyhow… that’s the news. They’ll most likely make it public by the end of the week, but I’m not looking forward to the political massacre of who gets to take the seat. I’m going to stay away from that as much as I can.”  
“Feelings mutual. Oh,” Ayeltah said suddenly as she remembered something, “A package came for you today, I put it in your office.”  
“I wasn’t expecting anything today,” Aaron said slowly. He’d always had a weakness for receiving packages, but he remained seated as he took a deliberate sip of his tea.  
His wife laughed, “You look uncomfortable.”  
“I’m feeling fine.”  
She shook her head with a grin as she waved him off, “Oh, for god’s sake, go open your package!”  
He stood suddenly, “I’ll be right back, I promise!”

A moment later, Aaron stood in his office and stared down at the plain brown package that was on his desk. It was unaddressed and had no markings of any kind. He took up a letter opener and cut into it gently before opening it gingerly.  
“No…” he gasped as he saw what was inside.  
There, inside a cotton padded container, was a single, large spoon. Aaron had seen it before, but never so close, and certainly not in his own office.  
“Perhaps it’s a recreation?” He asked himself nervously as he took it up with the utmost of care. He looked over it carefully before replacing it with wide eyes.  
It was the original.  
“Aaron… are you alright?” Ayeltah called behind him softly.  
“Oh… yes,” he glanced behind him for a moment as he took a deep breath.  
“What’s wrong?” She asked as she moved up behind him and looked in the box.  
“Nothing… I think.”  
She looked at him before moving her eyes onto the spoon once more, “It’s a spoon.”  
Her comment brought him out of his bewilderment and he laughed once, “It is indeed. But this… it’s not just any spoon. This spoon is almost five hundred years old.”  
“Really? It looks like it was just made.”  
“Exactly,” Aaron said excitedly as he took it up once more. “It’s made out of pure Minzite. It’s almost impervious to the elements and rust will never take hold to it. The material is incredibly rare, and this particular one was made…” he stopped speaking as he realized where he’d seen the spoon last.  
“Aaron, what’s wrong? You’re hands are trembling,” his wife said with concern.  
“This spoon belongs to Sebille,” the antique collector said quietly. “I saw in one of his collections during a showing several years ago.”  
“Well… who sent it? Maybe it was unintentionally sent to you?”  
“No,” Aaron set the spoon back into the box and turned to his wife, “Who brought the package?”  
“I didn’t see. I opened the door after I heard the bell outside and it was just sitting on the ground. Is there anything else in the box?”  
Aaron had been so alarmed that he hadn’t even thought to check, “Oh, I’m not sure. I suppose we should find out.”  
After digging around for several seconds, his fingers found a thick piece of paper. He pulled it up through the padding and lifted it. A small bit of sharp, fluid handwriting was visible in black ink, and he read it slowly.  
To a friend far more deserving than its previous owner. -K  
“Who is K?” Ayeltah asked quietly.  
Aaron smiled slowly, “An old friend of mine.”  
“He must be interesting if he was able to get his hands on this. You’ll have to tell me about him sometime.”  
The antique collector nodded as he smiled at the note, “I will.”


End file.
